


Kingsman Collection

by sushicorps (Inclinant)



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-16
Updated: 2016-08-16
Packaged: 2018-08-08 23:24:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 61,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7777732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inclinant/pseuds/sushicorps
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of my old Kingsman fics, short works and other WIPs. All fics are Hartwin unless otherwise stated.</p><p>1. Harry Hart vs That Damn Pug - Crack<br/>2. McDonalds' Maketh Man - Fast Food AU<br/>3. Hold onto Me (And I'll Hold You for an Eternity) - Guardian Angel AU<br/>4. Il Canonziere - Gentleman Thief AU<br/>5. An 1815 Napoleonic Brandy - Post Canon, Amnesia Fic<br/>6. King and Lionheart - World War AU<br/>7. The Best Laid Plans - Single Father Eggsy/Internet Friends AU<br/>8. This is How They Fall in Love - Merwin<br/>9. A Good Man - Angst<br/>10. Office Elevator AU<br/>11. Legend AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Harry Hart vs That Damn Pug

**Author's Note:**

> Collection of Kingsman fics that I took down, short works and other WIPs. Note that some of these will be WIPs, so no comments about edits etc. please. I've filled in the blanks in progression the best I can for some flow.
> 
> I am posting these up to get some closure for these stories and words which don't deserve to be languishing away in my folders just because of me. I may pick some of them up again but...
> 
> Chapter Summary: Harry had assumed he was way past that stage in his life to need to compete with another for the attention of his object of affection.
> 
> Apparently not.  
> The fact that the ‘another’ just has to be a dog is just salt in his wound.

 It’s not that kind of movie, but one should always, _always_ check the body. Which, of course, Gazelle, being the excellent assassin, and Valentine, being as squeamish over blood as he is, totally did not think to check if Harry was really as dead as they thought he was.

Thankfully for Harry, it transpires that he really isn’t dead. He later finds out that the bullet just clipped his head. Which is why one always checks to make sure that their target is dead, especially if you’re apparently as shit as shooting as Valentine. He wakes up to the harsh glare of hospital lights, head throbbing with a splitting headache not helped by the madness that seems to be going on around him. His head is spinning and his vision is all blurry and too bright and he doesn’t know what in damnation is going on when a face swings into his view and his eyes focus on it.

It’s Eggsy.

He has a ridiculous smirk on his face, but there is relief shining through his eyes. Harry groans and attempts to move but then everything tilts to the side and goes black again.

When he comes to again, Eggsy has been joined by Merlin and Rox-no, Lancelot. Apparently while he was unconscious, the world was nearly annihilated through a totally impractical plan - seriously, did Valentine even consider the massive mess up having most of the world’s population fight each other to death would cost? Thankfully, Eggsy, Roxy and Merlin managed to save the world from certain doom. It takes some explaining from Merlin and the only things Harry really manages to catch is Arthur being in with Valentine and outer-space missile and infiltrating Valentine’s top secret hush-hush rich, powerful people only evil lair in the mountains and killing him. At the end, Eggsy quips something about said rich and powerful people’s heads exploding like fireworks in the process so it would be lovely if Harry would just hurry up and get well again because they had a shit lot of things to do.

Well, he wasn’t expecting anything else anyway. Once a Kingsman, always a Kingsman, and always on the job.

He gets transferred back to their medical facility in London and in another two months, he’s back on his feet once again and taking over Arthur’s position. The Kingsman are busier than ever - for one, almost all the world leaders had their heads blown clear off and the wake of Valentine’s foiled plot exposed all the under the table deals and the distrust, even between fellow agencies, are deeper than ever. Governments and corporations are scrambling to sort themselves out amidst the mounting anger of the people, confused, horrified and demanding an explanation. The media is a frenzy all the time, beyond even their ability to fully control anymore.

Harry is the King of the Round Table now. Their bases worldwide look to him for direction, even as they struggle with their own losses. A good many men and women, it seemed, had been turned by the previous Arthur.

Merlin is still the genius that he is, working his magic behind the scenes and supporting them all the way. Lancelot is quickly on her way to becoming one of their youngest but most distinguished agents, much to Merlin’s pride and also secretly Harry’s, because he had always felt that the younger woman would go far.

Eggsy becomes the next Galahad, but he’ll always be Eggsy, Harry tells him without thinking one day and is rapidly thinking of something to cover up that much too revealing sentence but Eggsy just laughs. And gosh, he looks beautiful.

All that potential Harry saw in him is just blossoming now that he has the chance to do so. He cuts off all contact with that poisonous stepfather of his and his goons, moves his mother and baby sister into a new house much closer to tailor’s...and also much closer to Harry’s own.

Harry tries not to read too much into it.

It turns out that he was supposed to read too much into it.

* * *

They are most certainly not dating.

The term has such juvenile associations to it now with all the crude rubbish they are spouting on the telly.

What they have is much more than that, no matter how Eggsy gives a half eye-roll whenever he says that. Eggsy who will always have that crude, rough edge to him that he loves and who tells off obtrusive, obnoxious people who tut at them in the streets that “no, they’re not dating, they’re just fuckin’ like bunnies.”

Technically he’s not wrong because they do go at it an awful lot. It’s really because being Arthur, he can’t leave London but Eggsy is still an active agent and has to pursue cases all over the world. Naturally, they make use of the time they have together as much as possible.

They’re together and that’s all good, but there’s just one problem.

Harry had assumed he was way past that stage in his life to have to compete with another for the attention of his object of affection.

Apparently not.

It’s not even Lancelot, although initially, the fact that Eggsy and Roxy were so close grated on his nerves sometimes. Harry Hart did not have jealous spells, mind you, he merely was mildly discomforted by the prospect of the two in a relationship.

But that was before Eggsy had literally propositioned him in his house and the morning after, had laughed till he fell out of bed when Harry asked about him and Roxy. Apparently, the two were ‘best bros’ and the thought of them being together, like _together,_ was just physically revolting - because they were like siblings, Eggsy had been quick to add, not because Roxy isn’t a great, talented and beautiful young woman that the Kingsman are lucky to have.

Harry nods solemnly at that and if Lancelot happens to have an extra off day when she comes back from her mission, he chalks it up to a lull in active missions.

It’s not Lancelot.

It’s the blasted pug that follows Eggsy _everywhere._

The fact that the ‘another’ just has to be a dog is just salt in his wound.

Harry knows that the close training between recruit and dog tends to lead to a deep owner-pet bond, but this is just _fucking ridiculous._

There should be limits to where a dog should go and doors can be locked for a reason but Eggsy keeps forgetting and this leads to situations where Harry is mid-thrust and he looks up and _there is the damn dog staring at him with an unholy look in its eye._

He keeps telling himself that he is not fazed by a dog of all things - he has faced down megalomaniacal villains trying to kill him with flamethrowers and deadly poisons and whole death traps before, for goodness sake! - but it is just unnerving.

Harry is also positive the pug has an evil glint in its eyes whenever he pushes Eggsy down into the sheets or couch or against the counter tops or anywhere, really.

The pug is an evil, evil little thing. Cute, and therefore so much more evil.

It also hates Harry because it’s a quiet little angel of adorable-pug-ness any time it has Eggsy’s attention but the moment they’re together and their attention turns to certain activities, it turns into a rampaging hellion.

Case in point, just yesterday, the damn thing had practically howled and scratched at the bedroom door until Eggsy had caved in mid-blowjob and went to see what was wrong with the little devil.

Yesterday, it had refused to budge from the bed and when they had tried to relocate to the couch, it went there too.

A few days before, Eggsy had leaned in to kiss him before leaving for his mission and the pug had literally _thrown itself between them._

Not to mention the countless times Eggsy had to cancel on him because of said dog.

The dog is clearly the next world-dominating evil mastermind, if only he can get Eggsy to see that too.

Merlin has assured him that the dog is not possessed or installed with a mind-controlling implant, although how he managed to determine the former is something Harry thinks it’s best not to think about.

So it’s either the dog is clearly evil or just really hates him because Harry, like Arthur and the rest of them, had put a gun to their own dogs before and technically, he was sort of responsible for Eggsy being forced to ‘shoot’ JB too.

So this is revenge. From a _dog._

Well, he did want change.

Harry accepts that explanation and even grudgingly gives in to the darn dog sometimes. Then he sees Lancelot with her poodle that still loves her wholeheartedly and decides that the dog is just evil.

A lifetime of intelligence service, with countless of enemies around the world, and it’s a dog that takes him down.

* * *

Lancelot notices, naturally.

She takes one look at him after striding into his office, then frowns, puts the tablet in her hands aside and swings herself into a chair. “What’s the problem between you and Eggsy now?”

Harry does a mental double take but he is too much of an experienced, composed gentlemen to let it show.

“I have no idea what you are talking about, Lancelot.” He replies steadily.

“Call me Roxy,” Roxy says back. She is leaning forward and staring at him intently with her sharp eyes.

“You may call me Harry too,” Harry says too, finally acknowledging that they at least share some measure of friendship and anyway, Roxy is still Eggsy’s best friend/sister/ _’bro-pal_ ’...something.

Roxy’s eyes just narrow. “You’re jealous. But that doesn’t make sense because you shouldn’t have anyone to be jealous of….except…”

Her face clears like enlightenment has just been bestowed on her, her eyes literally light up with understanding. Then she is doubling over and nearly falling out of the chair.

“...The...dog!? Really?!”

“How did you _do_ that?” Harry demands, partly because the exchange has inspired a healthy amount of fearful respect for Roxy and partly because if they could harness her incredibly effective interrogation technique, they would be bringing villains down so much more efficiently.

Roxy just barely manages to rein in her laughing fit just enough to chirp out “I’m a girl in a boy’s club, Harry. I can’t just be good, I’ve got to be exceptional.”

Which, touché.

* * *

Roxy comes up with some reason to dog-sit JB for the next few days before Eggsy leaves for his next mission.

Harry makes a mental note to give her a week off in return.

He’ll come to a compromise with the damn pug eventually, but for now, he’ll just enjoy this time first.

* * *


	2. McDonald's Maketh Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s like the start of a bad joke: A gentleman spy walks into a London McDonald’s at three in the morning….
> 
> Sequel to Golden Crown and Arches

* * *

When a gentleman is in want of something, he obtains it.  

Just maybe not… _this._

Harry can’t exactly remember how long he’s been standing there in the middle of the road having a silent stand-off with the fastfood joint. He throws one last long, apprehensive look at the neon sign atop the small, stout building, then heaves a huge sigh and runs a tired hand through his hair. The limp brown strands flop down over his eyes.

The sign’s garish neon blink and flicker in the night, like it’s mocking him.

Or daring him.

Harry is honestly not quite sure.

A part of him notes that this entire show of behaviour is just ridiculous because he has quite literally faced down an army of zombie monkeys equipped with actual exploding bananas of doom.

(Sometimes the world offers no reasonable explanations for the shit that goes down. _Shit happens. Deal with it._ )

This is nothing in comparison and honestly quite irrational. It is just a fast food joint. Perfectly normal, perfectly safe, hardly the most fearsome off adversaries. Well, there were conspiracy theories, but that is quite another story altogether.

It is not like he has never been into a McDonald’s before. The fast food chain is everywhere in the world, like a hyper invasive pestilence. Besides, he had even frequented it before, back in the days of idealistic youthful foolishness and naivety, traveling down to Woolwich in the windy autumn of 1974 all eager to check out the new American joint.

The automatic doors open and close twice even though no one passes through and Harry concludes that yes, the McDonald’s is clearly testing him. He stares down the glass doors one more time, as if daring them to try opening to empty air again, then takes a deep breath and resolutely strides into the restaurant.

The air-conditioning that washes over him is sterile, as if the air has been recycled again and again in this small compound. It’s not a particularly big McDonald’s. The ordering counter is set directly after the doors and the sides are filled with sparse decorations and neatly lined up plastic table and chair sets. He’s not the only one in here at this hour, interestingly enough, but the rest of the customers look like the usual riff-raff that loiter the streets at the wee hours of the morning.

“Welcome to McDonald’s,” A voice - a man’s voice - drawls out in a monotone from the counter. It’s from a young man slouched over on the counter looking terribly bored, although Harry doesn’t exactly blame him because it looks like he’s the only staff around. Then he gets a good look at the man and damn near backpedals out of the restaurant there and then.

He’s definitely not displeasing to the eye, though his youth still shows through the bulk and roundness to the corners of his shorter, slightly stocky frame. His face is still a bit too full, although the promise is there – the years have not yet chiselled those features into sharp, winged cheekbones and his broad, square jaw is still a touch too rugged. He’s not exactly classically handsome, not exactly a crowd-turner though he would definitely catch a few eyes.

He’s everything that Harry knows he should not like and nothing at all like that which would catch his eye.

But all he can make out right now as his gaze refuses to tear away from the other is…He’s _gorgeous._

 The single word is all that repeats in Harry’s mind again and again - it’s baffling and downright insane that that is all his mind can make out right. That is all Harry’s mind can make out right now because...that’s it. That is him. That is the young man standing at the counter right now in the mustard yellow staff shirt which should look ghastly and washed out on any other but he is carrying it off quite well. His broad shoulder fills out the uniform that stretches taut over his fit frame too well and Harry’s pretty sure that the shirt is supposed to be buttoned all the way up, but he can’t say he’s not appreciating the little show of rebellion at this inane hour of the night because the collar hangs loose to reveal smooth skin and defined collarbones.

The young man is clearly taken aback at Harry’s appearance too, eyes wide and thick eyebrows with this ridiculous notch in them shooting sky-high.

It’s probably not every day that people in a three piece suit come wandering into a McDonald’s at three in the morning, Harry thinks belatedly.

For a brief moment, they just stare at each other, then Harry’s perfectly honed, well trained, constantly alert -   _thank you very much –_ spy mind kicks himself mentally back into awareness and reminds him that he’s supposed to be the picture of suave and debonair perfection.

The problem is, up close, the lad looks even more striking. Tuffs of dark blond hair sticks out messily from under the dark cap he is wearing, framing his, angular face. There is a certain strength to the set of his jaw, and a softness to his features. His eyes are a stunning hazel with echoes of green and his eyelids droop slightly at the edges in an endearing manner. He’s staring at Harry with a look of surprise in those very fetching eyes, mouth opened slightly in a small ‘o’.

Harry’s mind is weirdly enough conflating pictures of little brown corgi puppies and the man before him.

That jawline is very distracting and it-

“U-uh, mornin’, what would you like?”

-oh **_hell_ ,** it gets even worse when he talks.

Harry resists the urge to shoot the nearest wall. He’s not been thrown off his game for so long. While it was true that he has not been on honeypot missions for a while yet (they still exist, though they’re rare and far between), he still had his fair share in his younger years and he’d like to think that age had only refined his unique charm. Like fine wine.

A part of his mind distantly chimes that he should probably say something instead of standing there and _staring._

 “I’m afraid…”  Harry says, trying valiantly to jumpstart the neurolinguistic processing part of his brain that has shut down in favour of visual memory’s ardent efforts to document the sight before him, “I don’t frequent…establishments of these nature very often.”

The words are out of his mouth before he can fully process them, and then he is internally cringing because _establishments?_! _Really?_ This isn’t some sleazy bar or -

“Kinda guessed,” The man just quips back, cocking his head a little and leaning forward on the counter. “You don’t look like the sort to come round to places like this.”

 “Besides, you don’t have to make it sound so...shady and all. Perfectly safe, clean...artificial… Pretty damn boring actually. Especially at three in the fucking morning.””

Harry just watches on silently as the young man waves his hands around a little and pulls his face into a frown-y pout that he will not describe as adorable, because he _will not_. Mental pictures of corgis be damned. He has had _terrible_ run-ins with those pesky critters the Queen likes to keep around, experiences that he would very much not like to live again. They are like little devils, they are.

Then he realises that the young lad is staring at him and has stopped talking, and that he hasn’t listened to anything that he has said _because_ he had been too preoccupied staring at him. Harry just makes himself take a measured breath, blinks slowly, then grasps onto the last thing that he remembers the other saying, thanking _everything_ for spy instincts.

 “Yes, I suppose it must get rather tiresome at this hour.”

The silence is starting to settle over them again and it’s rather awkward, so Harry just reaches out for the umbrella hanging off the crook of his left arm with his right hand and puts it beside him. The tip clicks loudly on the tiled floor and he winces a little internally at the sound. Damn. Then he thinks over the entire exchange and notes how strange it was of him to do it in the first place…

Wait just one bloody damn minute.

He is showing off. He is actually showing off.

Harry damn near lifts his umbrella up to actually shoot the nearest wall.

Remember: cool, collected, suave, debonair, dashing gentleman spy.

 “In reply to your question, this was the only place open at this hour. Also, I have just returned from a business trip so unfortunately, my pantry is completely devoid of any cooking ingredients…” He says, stepping up to the counter now and resting one elegant hand lightly on the plastic menu that is placed there, all the while ignoring the steady stream of _‘Do people do this?’, “How do people order here?”,  “What the fuck do actually normal people even do when they flirt with other normal people?”_ passing through his mind.

 A gentleman is always comfortable in his own skin in any situation, Harry thinks and knows that his words would be laughing so badly at him right now if they could.

“Would you happen to have any recommendations...?”

His eyes fall onto the small plastic badge on the other’s shirt. E…wait _what?_

“…Eggsy?” He reads the name off it, bewildered. What sort of name _is_ that?

The other’s eyes go very wide for some reason that Harry cannot fathom for a long moment, then he seems to collect himself back and puts on a look of serious consideration. “Hm… Recommendations…”

“Would you prefer high cholesterol or high blood pressure?”

Harry just blinks blankly back at the man. That is the absolute _worst_ way to try to sell something but it’s almost kind of weirdly charming and Harry may be kind of slightly taken with it. He wonders for a second what that says about him but he just shoves the thought aside first to regret it later. Wrapped up in those thoughts, he isn’t really paying much attention when he chuckles and says the first line that comes to his mind…

“I’m sure I will survive a single…happy meal.”  
  
Then the pun hits him.

This is how low he has been brought down.

Eggsy’s mouth is hanging a little open and he looks like a deer in headlights, before he abruptly snaps his mouth shuts and gestures to well, all of Harry.

“Great to know ‘cause it’ll be real loss for the world if all that was gone, y'know.”

“I’ll take that into consideration,” Harry says, the edges of his mouth curling up slightly in amusement. It’s nice to know he’s not lost his touch on people, even if, you know, he’s resorted to making _fast food puns._

“Uh…uh right,” The other looks downright flustered right now and he waves his hands about the menu frantically, rambling on and on about the food and stuffs and it’s all honestly coming at rapid fire speed that even Harry can’t quite keep up with. Then he stills, pouts at the plastic sheet between them and gives a small shrug.

 “I think the Big Tasty’s not bad though? It’s uh, big….and... tasty?”

Big and tasty. Good _lord_ , who even named a food product _that_? It sounded like a horrible innuendo and a _joke_ just waiting to come undone.

Actually, Harry knows someone that he’ll very much like to make come undone right about now.

“Well, I’ll have that then, thank you very much,” Harry says and internally insists that his gaze did not just dip down a little there and then.

It did not.

“Yep,” Eggsy says while his fingers dance over the register, popping the ‘p’ a little too enthusiastically in Harry’s opinion. He duly recites out the total amount and Harry places it neatly onto the counter – it’s all very smooth and orderly and he’s just a touch impressed. At the man’s skill. Totally his skill. And efficiency. Absolutely not how he looks doing it…okay, fine, so maybe he’s admiring a little bit of how he looks, but aesthetic is just the cherry on top of it all. Even if it’s a cherry he’ll like to pop.

Oh for fuck’s sake, Hart, get a grip, he chides himself firmly, steadfastly ignoring the fact that the last time he had had to say something of that nature to himself had been on his first sniping mission.

It is the hour or the lights or the ravenous hunger _– physical_ hunger, mind you – that’s to blame for the nonsense parading through his head.

He stands back slightly to admire how the young man effortlessly goes into the routine of pulling the meal together, doing it with a smoothness that belayed not only practiced ease but also a certain nimbleness and gracefulness to his limbs.

Harry doesn’t quite realise that he is staring _, again,_ until he sees Eggsy leaning over the counter and giving him a meaningful look. The only thing he manages to register are the last few words of his statement. Something about wine? _Quick!_ Say something witty and brilliant, his mind goes.

“Actually, I think a good Pinot Noir should go brilliantly with this, so I’ll have that if you please?”

“Sorry mate, only got good old coke here,” Eggsy grins along and Harry feels himself relaxing, then even smiling a little because gosh, for all that the other looks slightly tired and washed out in the harsh fluorescent lights, when he smiles it reaches his eyes and he looks radiant and beautiful. He places the drink onto the tray, arranges everything twice over and then slides it over. “There, all done. Thank you for waiting.”

"No, thank _you_ ,” Harry says and gives Eggsy a little nod, before collecting his tray and leaving the counter. He ends up on a table and chair set on the far side of the restaurant, but still in perfect view of the counter and the young man.

“Well _,_ well, _well_ , wasn’t that _interesting._ I think it was the most entertaining part of my night, so thank you for that, Harry.”

Harry nearly overturns the entire tray. He ends up slamming it down on the table just a little too hard and the soft drink nearly topples over.  
  
**Fuck.** He had totally forgotten about the _bloody glasses._  
  
_“Shut up, Merlin.”_

Merlin, _fucking Merlin,_ switches off the ability for him to remotely turn off the glasses on his end so Harry has to spend the entire meal listening to his friend cackle about the entire exchange through the earpiece. He just knows that Merlin will never ever let him live this down, not even if he threatened to tell the entire agency what happened in the Rio mission of ’98, otherwise known as the Great Debacle of Hawaiian Shirts and Exploding Parrots.

In return, he just makes sure to thoroughly relish his food (because there’s no way Merlin, who is still stuck at headquarters, can get food in the middle of nowhere at this hour, so take that!), all the while eyeing the young man at the counter from time to time.

He’s not the only one – Eggsy is clearly only pretending to clean the counter just to cover up the secret looks that he is shooting Harry.

“Thank you and please come again!” Eggsy chimes out and Harry just nods back at him.

Oh, he _will._

Merlin still doesn’t shut up about it even after he leaves.

* * *

He really planned to come back the next day, but he gets slapped with a mission to Bulgaria. If he happens to spend a suspicious amount of time near McDonald’s outlets there well, that’s just a coincidence. It takes him a week to finish the mission and also learn the entire McDonald’s menu.

Harry has no idea what James is doing to keep having to use all the available Kingsman planes such that by the time they manage to dispatch a plane to pick him up, he ends up reaching London again at the accursed timing of three in the morning. The big cities never sleep, but it’s sure as hell not as easy to find food at three in the morning than at three in the afternoon.

This time, he switches the goddamn glasses off the moment he lands on English soil.

He finds himself outside the same McDonald’s again at 3.30am and walks in to see Eggsy building a tower on the counter out of deep-fried desiccated chicken mush. It is quite an impressive feat because all the nuggets are all irregularly shaped and to be able to find the centre of gravity of each and then line it up in a manner that allows them to be stacked to such a height? Very impressive. Definitely a sign of meticulous attention, intelligence and most of all, slick, deft fingers that could be put to use in _so many ways_.

Like safe-cracking. And lock-picking. _Totally._

Eggsy, thankfully, looks excited and even overjoyed to see him. He jumps to his feet but unfortunately, sends the tower of chicken nuggets toppling over the counter. The man looks clearly chagrined and slightly embarrassed by this but he just sweeps the nuggets off the side and pulls at his apron and shirt to straighten out the crumpled fabric.

Shit, Harry thinks. It’s ridiculously cute. Then he thinks ‘shit’ again.

“Hey,” Eggsy says finally, voice a little breathless and a delighted light in his eyes. “I wasn’t expecting you to show up again.”

“I’m surprised that you remember me actually.”

“Really?” Eggsy says incredulously and gestures to all of him with broad, flailing movements. “When you’re going ‘round dressed like that? Not many folks pop into here all fine and dandy in suits and all, you know.”

“Ah…” Harry makes a small noise of assent. “Well, that may be true. However, like the last time, I have again had the misfortune of returning from a business trip at a simply ungodly hour and a man should never let his... _hunger_ go unchecked.”

Eggsy has kind of…frozen a little and is gaping at him like a goldfish, one of those little things, rare and prestigious that he’s seen only once in a secret backroom in Tokyo and Harry has no idea why.

He’s just really hungry.  

 “So what is your fine recommendation for today?” He continues without missing a beat. Eggsy remains frozen for a split second, then flails around a little as he points towards the breakfast menu card that is on the counter as well.

“It’s nearly time for the menu switchover actually, so you can get the morning menu if you’d like.”

“Hmm...” Harry pursues the menu as if he had not seen it about five million times, in _Bulgaria._ “I’ll get the Big Breakfast set then. Would it be possible to get a lovely cup of tea to go along with it?”

“For you, anything.” Eggsy grins and shoots him a fucking wink. He’s halfway to the back kitchen when he casually turns around and goes in a tone that is all saucy and scandalous, “I’ll even do it _any way you like._ ”

The _cheek._

“Hmmm,” Harry finds himself saying before he can stop himself, making a whole show out of it and dragging the sound just a little too long. “I’ll have my eggs perfectly creamed, thank you.”

What the fuck are creamed eggs, Harry thinks to himself later as he collects his tray from a completely red-faced Eggsy.

The next time he goes into McDonald’s for breakfast, he thinks up a mighty fine pun involving Eggsy’s name and egg mcmuffins. He’s even strangely proud of himself for that. Eggsy just smirks, bats his long lashes back at him and singsongs, “So I’m your cute little eggmuffin then?”

The third time he does so, he begins to re-evaluates his life decisions after having spent the better part of two work days writing down a two-page long list of McDonald’s puns with a look of such intense concentration on his face that two interns ended crying thinking they’d done something horribly wrong while delivering the latest mission reports.

* * *

Merlin hunts him down in the shooting range where Harry is most definitely not trying to hide in and

waves a small stack of forms in his face.

“Explain why I have a surveillance request on a McDonald’s branch.”

Harry opens his mouth, closes it again, and then says, “I believe there is …information of interest to

be gained from that…branch?”

“Harry…” Merlin levels him a severe look, then his eyes narrow. “Harry...are you stalking the boy?”

Harry makes an outraged expression at that.

“No I am not.” He says, voice aghast but the sinking sensation in his heart is going: Uh, maybe he is.

Merlin looks majorly unimpressed but then the door opens behind them and a certain young woman

walks into the range, looking curiously at the two of them and the forms inbetween them, but she’s

all too aware of the still distance in their positions so she just scurries down to the far lane

Merlin instantly clears his throat and looks minorly horrified.

Harry notes all this with intense interest.

* * *

 

A week later, the analyst that hands him the report does so with a wink and an all too knowing smileon her face and Harry realises that probably the entire tech department, and hence probably the entire fucking back office probably now knows about his infatuation with the young McDonald server.

“Just so you know Galahad, we’re all rooting for you.” She says cheerily and then whips out of his office with a skip. An actual skip.

He soon finds out that the general opinion, especially amonst the young women of the agency, wasthat while it was a pity Agent Galahad decided to play for the other team, they greatly approved ofhis taste. Also there is an entire organisation-wide betting pool on him getting his ‘fit Maccy D boy.”

Even Merlin had contributed.

At least his old friend had bet on him

* * *

He ends up on a mission with Lancelot of all people.

_Lancelot_

(Lancelot flirts up a storm with Eggsy when they go to the McDonalds and Harry is very, very jealous. But he's still Eggsy's favourite so that's okay.)

 

“I have food in my house, you can come over, you know.” Agravain looks physically pained as she

looks at the McDonald branch in the distance.

“My god you really are addicted.”

“Are you addicted to the food...or the person serving the food?”

“Shut up Agravain”

Tristan’s reaction is much, much kinder than Agravain’s.

* * *

 

Arthur: Can you explain to me why I’m having complaints about your partners being dragged toMcDonalds of all things?

* * *

 

His assigned doctor hates him.

He still needs a reason to go to McDonald’s anyway so if he starts buying a lot of takeaway then…

The tech and support teams at the HQ usually work around the clock anyway.

* * *

 

Somehow, things quickly devolve into this:

It is a blindingly hot day in the Bahamas and Harry is beset upon by the local ruffians he inevitablyended up pissing off while retrieving the objective of the mission and it’s all just turned into amadcap fist-fight in the streets. The fucking heat is making him slightly groggy and he just wants to get the fuck out of here,

“Galahad, report.”

“Galahad, report.”

“Galahad, report.”

Something casually explodes in the distance.

“Merlin for crying out loud what is it?” Harry yelled into his earpiece, swinging around to use thehook of the umbrella to cut off an charging

“Remember to pick up some fries and shakes from McDonald’s on your way back.”

“I could be dying out here-”

“You obviously have the situation under control. My department, on the other hand, has beenbribed to the core with your constant plying of fast food and is currently not under my control. Therefore, the responsibility of fulfilling their junk food addiction falls upon you.”

“...Fine.” Harry says finally through gritted teeth.

* * *

(Additional Encounter with Eggsy)

* * *

Harry’s in his office when the door swings open to admit one terrifyingly capable Roxy Morton, nownewly dubbed Bedivere, and the tall lanky figure of one Percival.

“We have a problem,” Both Mortons start at the same time in a very scary reflection of each other.

“If it’s both of you I don’t suppose it’s who I think it is? What does that have to do with me?”

“Ever since you brought James to that McDonalds-"

(James appears)

“Oh hey, you’re all here too.”

“Wanna go hit the McDonald’s off the street?”

Roxy and Percival level Harry a look. James is beaming from face to face. Harry stuffs down the urgeto hit the table with his face.

* * *

So McDonald’s fries are addictive. He might be addicted to the fries. Okay that is a problem.

* * *

 

“Oh and one last thing, Galahad. And this is very important so you must take note of it.”

“Bring me a McFlurry on the way back. And Megan in Finance wants a double cheese burger and shakes.”

* * *

 

Eggsy makes quips about sending his heart “I hope I’m sending your heart into a flurry.” As he makesthe McFlurry Harry ordered.

Harry won’t bring himself to say “I hope I’m your McDreamy.”

He said it out loud. Oh shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Fucking hell.

Eggsy looks completely stunned. “Nah, you’re my McHottie.”

Then he regrets everything.

* * *

From now on, all his mission briefs no come with an added memo of a McDonald order a mile long.

* * *

Arthur: Why is there a proposal on my desk signed by seven agents to open a McDonald franchise??? WHY???

 

* * *

Gawain falls. They mourn. And then the whole pissing contest of finding a new candidate starts upagain.

Harry makes the decision while they’re in the thick of a fight, having just busted an internationaldrug smuggling operation exchange.

“I think I’ll ask him today,” He muses out loud and the two men he is fighting off actually lookstunned and taken aback for a moment and he takes the chance to easily dispatch them with a swiftpunch to the head.

Bedivere just stares at him like he’s lost it from where she is very tidily sweeping up the rest of the goons.

 

(Harry and Roxy go and propose Eggsy to join Kingsman)

* * *

 

**Bonus:**

 

It’s 2am in the morning as usual and Harry’s just returned from Bulgaria. He’s tired, exhausted and as per usual, starving, because the idiot agent before him (eh, probably James) had wiped out all the food stocks of the few private jets

Lately, he has acquired the habit of remedying this problem with a quick pop into the McDonald’s down the street – yes, Harry is all too aware of the deceptive dangers of that neon-lit, deep-fried mass food producing symbol of capitalism, but he’s been discovering that fast food can be strangelyfulfilling.

In more ways than one.

If there is no one in the store, Harry thinks as he grabs his umbrella and coat, swinging the lattereasily over his shoulder, perhaps he could persuade Eggsy to take a little break.

He’s about to open the door when the doorbell rings and his hands freeze over the silver knob. For amoment, at this unexpected phenomena, his instincts take over and he’s squaring his shoulders and bracing himself, grip tightening on the umbrella.

“McDelivery!”

Oh.

“Eggsy…” Harry groans as he puts away the umbrella and hangs his coat back up on the door, wondering why the other is even free this time of the night. Shouldn’t he be at work now?

“McDonalds doesn’t deliver.” He remarks as he opens the door to take in the sight of Eggsy leaning against the side of his door, dressed in that ghastly uniform of his with the smuggest grin on his face.

“Well this one does, and the delivery boy has a very special Happy Meal waiting just for you," He winks conspiratorially. 

“I hate your uniform,” Harry mutters as he lets the other in.

"Well then maybe you could do something about that..."

* * *

 


	3. Hold Onto Me (And I'll Hold you for an Eternity)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When you die, you have a choice: Move on or stay on Earth to keep watch over those closest to you.
> 
> It’s something like being a guardian angel.The thing is, Harry doesn’t have any family or friends left. But there is this one particular young man.

  


Heaven turns out to be surprisingly bureaucratic. The BBC seems to have gotten it about right actually.There are forms to fill out, orderly queues to stand in line in and patient announcements the sound over the calm bustle of noise every now and then. Everything is white but it’s the nice, pleasant, calming sort, not the harsh, sterile type of white of hospitals and antiseptic. He has been dead for all of one hour, he thinks, because time runs very differently in this plane, something that he just knows intrinsically but he’s not sure how.

He ends up being ushered into a room where a woman is pouring over what appears to be files and files of papers scattered all over a haphazard desk. She smiles when she sees him, waves him over to take a seat in front of her and then nearly topples over a stack of precariously balanced papers while pulling out a slim, leather bound file.

“So…ah, Mr Harry Edgar Hart, yes?” She says while flipping the file open. He nods, although she’s not really asking it as a question directed to him. In fact, the woman doesn’t even look up from the file in her hands as she quickly delves into a rapid explanation of what apparently happens to people when they ‘move on’. The gist of it is that newly departed souls can either choose to continue to watch over their close ones on earth until they too, pass on, or move on from this ‘transit’ stop to be with the ones already departed.

It’s something like being a guardian angel.

The woman finishes looking through his file and closes it with a snap, before looking intently at him. “You don’t seem to have any living family members or close friends left, it seems. In this case, the usual recommendation is for the individual to move on immediately, unless, of course, you have any particular person in mind?”

Harry thinks of his parents, his brothers, the girl he had once loved, the soldiers from his time in the army, his fellow Kingsmen who had gave their lives for their cause. He hadn’t always been alone, but in his line of work, people usually ended up that way eventually. The people that had once been the world to him, now departed, are just waiting there in the great beyond.

He can go to them now.

But there is still one more person.

 

* * *

 

There are guardian angels all over the streets of London. Parents, children, siblings, teachers, friends, lovers…

All of them have large, downy wings flowing about them.

Harry can’t figure out how to find his wings.

 

* * *

 

Of course Lee would be there, watching over his family. He had always been loyal to a fault - _like father like son._

“Well, it’s about time,” Lee grins and grips his hand solidly. He’s as young and bright and looks just the same as he did the day that he bravely sacrificed his life to save the rest of them without even a second thought.

Harry has never forgotten that day and it plays at the back of his mind every time his breath is taken away by the depth of Eggsy’s smile. A smile that was only ever directed to him because the one who should have received it all these years was taken away far too soon.

They also proceed to have the most mortifying conversation in Harry’s now entire life and a bit, because Lee is still Eggsy’s father and well, even if their circumstances are a little unusual, he’s just like every other father who loves their child and wants only their happiness.

It’s just a pity that they could not have done it in real life, by Eggsy’s side.

“Thank you,” Lee says finally as the two of them stand by the side and watch Eggsy banter with Roxy as both of them go about one of their rare days off. “Thank you for seeing in him what you once saw in me and saving us both.”

He turns to go and Harry calls out to him, confused. Lee just turns back to him and smiles.

“I can trust you with him now.”

 

* * *

 

JB knows something is different when his human finally comes back, smelling of grief, blood and fire. He’s not happy that his human, his brash, dumb human ran off to save the world – _without him, the idea of it!_ – and is about to make sure that he knows it too when he sees _him._

It’s the older human. His human’s human, even if the other human did not know it while he was still flesh and blood.

His human can’t see him, but JB can.

He’ll not let him hurt his human another time.

 

* * *

 

Apparently the dog can see him.

Apparently the dog hates him.

 

* * *

 

He watches the way Eggsy breaks down in his room when he’s finally alone after the nondescript funeral they put up for Harry, the only thing they can offer a spy. He listens to the broken, torn confessions coming from the young man’s lips as he allows himself this one final moment of grief. He never knew, but he had secretly always hoped for the same, only holding back his desires out of a self-imposed sense of propriety and decorum. He had been nothing but a gentleman to the end.

He hates himself too.

 

* * *

 

Eggsy becomes Galahad because the Kingsman are down with too many active agents to start new recruitment processes for. The world is going to pieces in the aftermath of Valentine’s mad plot and the Kingsmen are busier than ever.

Eggsy is a brilliant agent, just like Harry always knew he would be. He glows with the pride of a mentor, a friend, a lover that could have been, as the young man completes mission after mission with flying colours.

Then he gets shot. 

Harry stands guard over him in the Kingsman medical ward in silence until Eggsy opens his eyes, wanting more than anything to touch him, hold him, feel the rise and fall of the other’s chest and the steady pulse of his wrist

The pug just keeps glaring at him from where it is curled up at the foot of the bed, growling whenever he gets close.

He doesn't blame it.

 

* * *

 

His human goes off to try and save the world again and ends up lying hurt in the healing place again. JB is angry. Obviously his boy needs JB there to take care of him. They were always meant to be a team.

The not-human is there too and his face is pinched and sorrowful, like he is suffering from the slow, painful ache of an iron thorn stuck in his paw.

JB growls at him whenever he tries to get close. It’s his fault that his boy is now here, smelling of blood, pain and chemicals. He should have protected him, when JB could not.   

                                                                                                                           

* * *

 

Eggsy gets shot _again._

This time Harry is a little faster. He trips up the assailant just before he shoots with a well-placed burst of power that manifests into a wild blast of wind in the man’s face.

It’s always the little things that make the most difference.

The bullet just clips Eggsy in the side this time, nothing more than a mild hindrance. He’s back in the fray without missing a beat, manages to escape from some crazy maniacal tech genius with the blueprints for his doomsday weapon and saves the day once again.

 

* * *

 

JB grudgingly concedes that the non-human has some use after all.

 

* * *

 

Eggsy gets assigned a honeypot mission and Harry would break something, if he still could. He can’t bring himself to stay beside Eggsy as he laughs and falls into the bed with the rogue scientist whose data they need, but the link between the two of them means that he can’t fully shut out the sounds and images of the other from his mind.

Eggsy is _gorgeous,_ all pale long limbs twisted up in the white hotel sheets and sparkling cheeky eyes heavy-lidded and pupils blown wide with lust. His lips are cherry red after being kissed and utters the filthiest of moans when he is taken.

He can’t help the dark, vicious stab of jealousy that overtakes him – it should be _him_ and the other is _his._

Harry does end up breaking something after all. It ends up setting off the fire alarm, which results in a chaos that gives Eggsy just enough time to swipe the scientist’s thumbdrive and replace it with a dummy, before scrambling to disappear into the crowd.

 

* * *

 

He asks Lee how he dealt with seeing his wife get together with another man - one that was violent and vindictive and did not have half an ounce of respect for her. The way Lee’s face falls immediately tells him all that he needs to know.

All they can do now is just watch over and protect them the best they can and hope that life will be kind to the ones they love.

The next time Eggsy goes out on a date, Harry repeats that to himself throughout the night. The girl he is having dinner with is actually pretty nice – she’s from one of their secondary field agent support teams. She’s witty, intuitive, has a mean right hook and knows a thousand different ways to fashion a weapon from a straw. But there is also a touch of kindness to her, a softness to her edges borne of having a heart too full of love and loyalty to those that matter the most.

Eggsy is smitten.

It’s his happiness that has always mattered the most, Harry thinks to himself as he sighs and leans against the wall of the restaurant to watch over the two silently.

 

* * *

 

It doesn’t work out. It doesn’t work out because Eggsy gets shot again two months after the two get together,  breaks his arm a month later,  nearly gets sliced to pieces by an insane robot three months later and then almost drowns in the Pacific Ocean.

It’s all too much for her. At least she waits until Eggsy has recovered from his near-drowning to gently break up with him.

Being too kind can be a bad thing.

There is a reason why the final test of every recruit is for them to shoot their canine partner.

The world is often unkind, especially in a line of work like this. All Kingsman agents require a certain steeliness of heart to them. It’s a strength, even if it may come off as cold or callous, that they need to last in a world of secrets, lies and distrust.

 

* * *

 

It’s not surprising that Eggsy gets hurt again in his next mission. The boy still has a certain impulsive side to him, for all his training, which is why he keeps running into scraps, as Merlin keeps sighing whenever he reviews Galahad’s mission reports.

This time, he is with Roxy and the two are in Stockholm recovering information on human smuggling networks of a worldwide trafficking triad when Eggsy falls off a roof, nine stories up.

Harry is leaping after him without thinking and grabs onto him, pulling him close, praying, hoping, _begging_ to be able to do something; because what use is a guardian angel who cannot actually protect their charge, what use is an angel that cannot deliver _miracles..._

The next thing he registers is wings billowing out around him - soft, white wings, like doves, but with the majesty of an eagle’s - ensconcing the two of them into a warm, protective feathery embrace.

He holds onto Eggsy and they both fall.

 

* * *

 

The non-human now has wings, like a bird.

JB is awfully tired of his human constantly getting injured, but he knows better now. He knows that it’s his boy’s job, that he went through an awful lot to get it and he’s so very proud of what he does. He still doesn’t take JB along, even though the idiot obviously needs JB to take care of him, but it’s the nature of the job, apparently.

JB’s okay with it now. He’ll just welcome his human when he returns to him and take care of him then. He will always be there for his boy.

This time, at least, his human doesn’t seem too hurt - the older human and the girl call it a miracle, but JB knows better. He eyes the non-human, the angel, then gives a little huff and curls up in his boy’s arms, ignoring the other as he slowly moves over and drapes one wing protectively over his human.

He’s not that bad after all. JB will very magnanimously permit him to come near his boy.

Maybe he’ll even let him watch over his Eggsy for a while.

JB slowly drifts off to sleep.

 

* * *

 

Eggsy complains and says that he’s perfectly peachy ‘n all, minor scraps and bruises aside, but Merlin points out that he did just _fall off a nine storey building,_ even if the awnings he had crashed through and the dumpster he had landed in had somehow miraculously saved his life. Roxy agrees with him and between the two of them, Eggsy’s words are overruled and he’s stuck in the medical unit for overnight supervision.

At least Merlin agreed to let JB stay though, Eggsy thinks to himself as his pug happily makes itself at home in the crook of his arm and noses at his bandaged cuts. He settles himself against the pillows and sighs because even though he’s not badly hurt, the mission had been exhausting all the same. His eyelids slowly droop even as his mind languidly runs the events of the day through his mind again, a post-mission habit it seems that every agent eventually picks up.

He could have sworn he felt something - a warm touch, a comforting hold - as he hurtled through the air during his fall. It’s crazy, he thinks, but it almost felt like wings. Broad, powerful wings that had wrapped him up in a protective, loving embrace as he fell.

If he has a guardian angel, Eggsy thinks, he would want it to be Harry.

He can almost feel the slightest brush of those soft feathers now.

It’s probably just the medication playing tricks on his mind.

 

* * *

  



	4. Il Canonziere

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A gentleman thief does not literally steal gentlemen. Too bad Eggsy Unwin is pretty shit a thief, even worse a gentleman and just generally rubbish at being a gentleman thief. Or perhaps, he is the best one of them all.
> 
> Gentlemen don’t go running off with thieves, no matter how pretty they are, in the middle of the night. Or perhaps, Harry Hart isn’t quite as much a gentleman as he thinks.  
> Cover and fanart by the infinitely lovely and amazing [fregg ](http://fregg.tumblr.com/)for this story can also be viewed [here](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/Kingsman_Bang/works/4636530)  
> 

  


The string quartet was playing Pomp and Circumstance for some godforsaken reason and Harry Hart was _this_ close to crushing the glass in his hands the way the mind-numbing boredom was crushing his _mind._

It would be a real pity though, because the glass was expensive; well-made, clean, with a nice shape…so Harry noted to himself anyway, then internally groaned at the fact that he had started admiring the _dinnerware._ He promptly waved a server over and deposited the glass onto the offered tray with a loud clink.

It had been three hours since the ball had started and _still_ their target had not shown up. Without a doubt, back at their HQ, the support and surveillance teams were a frenzied mess, frantically trying to figure out the whereabouts of their sole lead to the shadowy international organisation that they had been trailing for the past year. Here, however, the absence of their target only meant…

 _“Galahad, do_ not _shoot someone however bored you are,”_ Merlin’s voice, low and flat, sounded in his ear, even if it was really more static than words. They had even bloody installed signal cancellers around the ballroom to prevent the use of communicative devices to heighten the ‘authenticity’ of the experience. Of course, the Kingsman systems were too advanced to be more than mildly hampered by these trifling civilian devices but at this point, Harry would appreciate even the pointless offerings of the internet for entertainment.

“I’m _trying,_ ” He whispered under his breath, stifled an irritated sigh and reached out for another glass of wine. “You should’ve just given me one of those special smartphones too.”

 _“So you can bring it back to me in pieces again? I don’t think so._ _And don’t get drunk off your arse like the last time.”_

“It was **one** time _-“_

 _“There’s a **reason** why we didn’t send you back for years” _Merlin immediately rumbled back before he could get another word in edgewise. _“It’s a bit hard to orchestrate a reason for a man falling outta the goddamn sky onto the main street in the middle of the day with nothing but a scarf wrapped ‘round his jewels…and then the building behind him explodes and rains fucking **sardines** on everyone."_  

To be fair, that was actually quite a valid point.

Harry stared mournfully at the glass in his hand and tossed it into the nearest potted plant.

Around him, fine silks sashayed and jewels sparkled beneath the warm amber lights as the crowd, dressed to the nines with a glittering mask on each of their faces, murmured and swayed to the music.

It was the 21st century and here they were, the rich and famous and _bored_ , pretending to be 16th century aristocrats in a masquerade ball.

In _Venice._

The ball was being thrown in the honour of someone’s nephew’s sixteenth birthday, because apparently, sixteenth birthdays had become so preposterously important that they had to warrant the booking of an entire stretch of luxury hotels in Venice for a week long gala. A gala that culminated in this _blasted_ masquerade party.

The masquerade had made it all the more difficult for them to identify their target and Harry could almost feel an oncoming headache from the collective irritation at the entire situation.

Overhead, chandeliers, carved from diamond and gold, reflected the lights of thousands of electric candles and washed the dance floor with gold. At the far end of the ballroom, the marble staircase wound upstairs, where along the balcony that ringed the dance floor, were small alcoves for the more private or the weary. Harry had been hiding there for most part of this ridiculous charade, away from the madness that was the dance floor, which had gone through a jaunty mazurka and was now in the midst of a minuet.

The wine, rich and sweet, as only the finest from the Tuscany region had been permitted, had taken the edge off his growing irritation for the first hour, but even that was wearing thin now. The guests here were all people of what would be called good standing in those times, but now were considered more like rich arrogant elitist snobs - with a family name that probably stretched back two centuries and coffers that were as deep. The kind of people whose wealth had opened up everything to them that they had grown _bored_ of what the world had to offer them and resorted to creating farces of another time for _entertainment._

Sure, there was the odd lady or two dressed in a svelte gown cut with modern flair, and a few young men decked in Armani’s with luminous skinny ties, but most of the people twirling around the dance floor in a graceful waltz were decked in rubies and sapphires and lace and satin. And because it was a masquerade, every one of them was spotting some form of over the top mask or other – Harry had seen a cobalt blue one studded with sapphires and complete with an entire array of peacock feathers.

Harry hadn’t bothered to get a mask, but had been given a plain gold one upon arriving anyway.

The mask had also went into the nearest potted plant.

It - _all of it_ \- was **_ridiculous_.**

Just a month ago, he’d been sipping piss poor brandy out of his flask to steady his hands to wrap the makeshift bandages around his leg, the breeze from the rural lake ruffling the damp strands of his hair, the explosions rocking the heroin factory in the distance lighting up the night.

He would take that night in the middle of god awful nowhere over this in a heartbeat.

Sighing, he shook the thoughts from his head and carried on ambling slowly through the crowd. For once, he actually looked _underdressed_ in his perfectly tailored grey three-piece suit, for everyone around him was decked out in ruffles and cravats, top hats and corsets. The ornate walking stick, the more elaborately disguised version of the Rainmaker that he got to carry tonight courtesy of the old, doddering fool persona that he was supposed to be (all the better for potentially hostile enemies to undermine him with, before he kicked their arses completely, of course) made the crowd part easily for him.

The back of the ballroom was where the refreshment tables were, small round tables draped with delicate white silks and adorned with floral displays so full the colourful blossoms nearly seemed to tip off the very surfaces they stood upon. Away from the dance floor, it was quieter here and there was a corner that was, thankfully, empty.

Harry slipped a hand into his suit pocket to fidget with his phone a little, fighting the temptation to open angry birds or some other inane game like that.

“You should really look like you’re enjoying the party more.” A familiar voice remarked as a man stepped up to him from the crowd, sipping from the glass of whiskey in his hands. James’ face was covered with the standard gold mask, but Harry would recognise that narcissistic bastard anywhere, even if he had turned into a goose.

He had _tried_ \- emphasis on the word ‘tried’ - to convince Merlin and Arthur that he could really do this entire mission on his own, but Arthur had cited the old adage “better safe than sorry” and Merlin had simply waved his medical report in his face. Sure, so his leg still stung a little when he exerted himself, but Harry had gone through worse before.

Anyhow, so now, in addition to being stuck in an asinine evening, Harry had the great fortune to be enjoying the absolutely brilliant company of one Percival (whom he didn’t really mind so much), and also one James (which he did mind). Fantastic.

“The brandy is delightful, to say the least,” James raised the glass in his hand as he leaned against the marble pillar, then frowned at Harry’s simple suit and lack of mask.  “And you could have at least dressed the part if you weren’t going to act the part.”

Harry eyed the other’s get up critically, shuddering a little at the many ruffs on the loose white shirt and the cravat that looked positively stifling. The black waistcoat, with its crimson embroidery and the black overcoat, embellished with a gilded design that bordered on being garish, was exactly the flamboyant sort of shit that he expected from the other.

“I doubt it is my own lack of dressing-up that you are complaining about, is it, James?” He replied dryly, nodding towards the direction of Percival who was standing a little ways off and thumbing through his phone, doubtlessly fully focused on examining the tapped feeds of the bugged security cameras. Typically, he was dressed in the plain black suit that he wore almost all the time.

The tips of James’ ears went bright red.

“What, no, it’s nothing like that, I… _damn you,_ Harry,“ James glowered, face reddening rapidly and definitely not from the drink, for Harry had seen the other drink an entire bar dry before. A Russian bar, to boot. He turned on his heels sharply and then stormed off quickly, moving in the opposite direction from Percival.

Harry smirked as he watched the other go, then sighed now that that little bit of entertainment was gone. He toyed with his phone for a moment, then slipped it back into his suit pocket and decided to scour the refreshment table again - if he was going to be stuck here for the rest of the night, he might as well make the best of the damn good hors d'oeuvre selection.

He had already selected two very handsome looking pastries, the finest of the lot, when his sweeping gaze landed on the young man standing a little ways off in the crowd.

The man was slightly turned away from Harry, side profile cutting a striking silhouette amidst the crowd. The amber candlelight dusted over his smiling face gently, casting a soft shadow that only accentuated the crinkles at the sloping edges of his eyes and the delicate upturn of the corners of his lips.

He should have blended in with the crowd. He shouldn’t even have been of note to Harry at all, for at first glance, he looked right at home with the elaborate costumes and finery that surrounded him, but Harry knew better. The rich pulled off their own look effortlessly and Kingsman had only refined his ability to read a passing stranger in a split second. The man’s black suit was just slightly too over the top, with its black fur collar and gold lace trimmings extending a bit too much to be mere embellishment. The gems on his cuff links flashed just a bit too much in the light to be true stones. He was in a tuxedo, yet most scandalously, there was no bow-tie about his neck. He stood up straight, with good posture, but the slight shuffling of his feet and the small bounce from heel to toe revealed that he wasn’t quite comfortable in the stiff, shiny pair of oxfords he was wearing.

Or rather, that was what Harry liked to think made the other catch his eye to begin with.

The fact was, the man had cut quite the eye-catching figure in the crowd. Though his suit was gaudy (complete with cape, just imagine!), he filled it out handsomely. Though the collars of his white shirt were pressed stiff and stood high about his neck, the fabric was loose as it plunged down the front, the gap where the unbuttoned cloth did not overlapped flashing a tantalising glimpse of defined collarbones and pale smooth skin. The black mask covered most of his face but Harry could still make out the strong set to his square jaw and wing-tipped cheekbones that curved enticingly up into dark blond locks perfectly styled into place.

Perhaps he should approach the other, he mused as he put the pastry back onto the serving platter and reached for one of the soft, embossed napkins to wipe the crumbs off his fingers. Turning back around, he realised that he was not the only one who had gotten that idea.

“ _‘ello_ ,” The man greeted as he finally stepped free of the crowd to join Harry, eyes sweeping slowly down Harry’s frame. His slow, searching gaze, strangely enough, almost felt perfunctory- at least until his eyes lingered for a long moment over Harry’s left hand.

The look in his eyes as he swept his gaze back up was completely lascivious, a fact cemented by the slight quirk to his lips.

“ _You’re not dancing.”_

The rolling tones of his voice still had that soft touch of youth, but was rough and slipping around the edges of each syllable. Harry could tell that he was expending much effort to keep his words crisp and neutral, but the thickness of an accent seeped through. It made it a tad harder to place where the other was from - the clear general British manner of speaking aside - but it distinctively had the undertones of a fellow Londoner’s accent.

Or perhaps it was just his eyes that was stealing all deductive thoughts from his mind.

Up close, in the golden light, Harry could just make out the slow melt of forest green to hazel in the eyes twinkling from behind the black velvet mask.

It was _mesmerizing._

“Do you really see an old man like me to be one to dance?” Harry replied, bringing both hands forward to rest on his cane, fingers wrapping around the smooth gold knob.

An edge of the man’s lips quirked up. ”No indeed. But I’d thought I could perhaps charm you into changing your mind.”

Harry arched an eyebrow, resolutely continuing to ignore Merlin’s low, exasperated muttering in his ears.

“Now why would you ask this old soul hiding amidst the potted plants for a waltz instead of the other very lovely young ladies and gentleman out there?”

“Lovely?” The man gave a small, amused snort and threw his hands out to gesture at the ballroom. “I’ve _seen_ you pacing through the ballroom earlier with a look of utter disdain for the people around you.”

Harry gave a small hum in agreement. “Well then, surely you would have seen that _ridiculous_ peacock mask and understand the sentiment.”

“Yeah that guy was pretty sh- _fu-uh_ ,” The man coughed. “Uh…something, wasn’t he? I mean, why would you pair that with a fire-engine red long coat?”

“Indeed,” Harry chuckled and then lapsed into silence, but not without noting the other’s little slip up with much interest. Still, the other did not leave but rather seemed to settle down, as if he were perfectly content to stand and wait until Harry assented to his request.

Harry sighed. “I would love to consider obliging your request…but I must decline.”

The man pursed his lips a little at his words.

“Why not? It can’t be quite as interesting standing ‘round here with the potted plants when the dance floor beckons.”

“It isn’t,” Harry agreed, then tapped his cane on the ground. The bronze tip made a hollow sound over the wood. “Most regrettably, my leg makes…activities such as dancing rather difficult.”

 _“Oh.”_ The man said, his brows slipping into a frown and a thoughtful expression fixing itself on his face. His eyes took on an almost startling glow in the warm light and flashed as an idea seemed to spark in those eyes.

“I do believe the musicians are striking up a waltz next, a slow one, requested by one of the friends of tonight’s young guest of honour in a bid to court a lady friend, or so I have heard.”

He turned back to throw a broad gesture to the dance floor. “Surely that would be… _okay_?”

The way his voice lilted up gently on the last word as he asked that question - soft, a little shy yet still hopeful – was simply endearing.

“ _Galahad, Ga-“_ He could hear Merlin start again.

Harry smothered a wince and just reached up to his glasses, pretending to shift it a little but in actuality stealthily inputting the code to switch off all transmissions from his end.

“… I would rather not hold anyone back in a dance and be an embarrassment to us both on the dance floor.”

“I don’t see how anyone could be with you and be embarrassed at all, much less on the dance floor.”

Harry regarded the man with a pointed look. “You are a particularly persistent young fellow.”

“And people say that the youth of today gives up too easily,” He grinned back without missing a beat, then ducked his head a little bashfully. “But I can’t really claim to have more determination than most. After all…”

“What would I not do to have a fine gentleman on my arm?”

The look he gave Harry made his breath catch in his throat.

Around them, the dancers began to slow as the music eased into a leisurely phrase of smooth legato notes, all pale gauzy pink and sheer lace. A couple spun just a bit out of the dance floor, breezing by where the two of them were standing and sending the leaves of the ferns in the tall marble vases fluttering in shimmering silvery chimes.

Harry watched the couple spin back to the dance floor, the lady’s pale gold silk dress fluttering over the polished wood, then turned back to his newfound yet strangely compelling companion. There were worst situations that could be had and this was, after all, a ball. Besides, Harry had always been a touch old-fashioned at heart and a waltz…He hadn’t danced it in years. And the last time he had, he certainly had not been blessed with such a fascinating, handsome young partner by his side.

“I believe the usual statement used in occasions such as these is ‘May I please have this dance?’ “

The man blinked and then broke out into a brilliant smile.

“Well then," He said with a renewed flourish, stepping back with a small bow and offering a hand. "May I have this dance?”

“You may.”

There was a long moment’s pause as the two of them stared at each other in silence. Then the deep, reverberating hum of the contrabass, followed by the rich, warm tones of the cello sounded out as the music swelled into a new piece. The violins began a sweet chorus as the violas gracefully receded into simpering chords, a forest of notes sing-songed to the strong beats of three.

The dance floor was emptier now – the wearier of dancers had left for the refreshment table or the private rooms – and the sweet, lilting melody just rang out all the more true over it.

Harry slid his hand over the man’s offered one, fingers curling into the soft white satin as the man drew him in. He moved to place his other hand on his shoulder, but the other just shook his head and gently moved it to rest on his hip even as he raised their clasped hands to hold it at shoulder height.

“You asked for this dance,” Harry murmured in the hand’s span between their faces.

The man just gave him a small, sheepish smile.

_“Indulge me.”_

The waltz, Harry thought to himself even as he pulled the other close to begin the first steps of the dance, had once been considered to be most indecorous when it had been first introduced into English society. Today, it certainly would not be considered a _sexual_ dance, but the manner in which the man looked at him, eyes shining alluringly in the spotlights against the sweeping grandeur of the ceiling whenever they spun to the welling music…

The music quickly settled into their steps – step, step, step, _whirl_ to the shimmering clamour of violins. They don’t exchange a single word on the slow figure eight on the dance floor. Nothing but the sound of music passed between them and the soft whoosh of air on the turns.  Harry could feel the warmth coming from the other, from the closeness of their bodies to the strong, tight grip on his shoulder and where his hand rested over the taut, flexing muscles on the man’s hip as they swayed over the dance floor.

The entire situation was absurd and he ought to put a stop to this. His left leg, still not yet fully healed, was always a bit too slow on the turns and it was messing up the rhythm. What was supposed to be smooth, graceful movements instead turned into an awkward shuffle, long legs brushing against each other one too many time. But his body, for some strange reason, was refusing to listen to him, too caught up in the sensation of the heated breaths between them, warm and heavy from the exertion of the dance.

They were practically chest to chest now - midway through the dance, the man had begun to step in just a little closer on the second beat to make up for Harry’s weak leg - and the change, as minute as it was, brought them even closer together. The heat was _searing_ against his cheek and all Harry could think of are _those eyes_ lingering on him and the small parting of _those lips_. It made his head spin, despite the insistence of his mind that the sensation was from the dancing or the lights or the wine… or a combination of all three.  

Then his step faltered and knee buckled, causing him to crash into the other and their legs to tangle up in each other. Harry would have fallen over if not for strong arms hastily encircling about his waist gently, holding him upright. He opened his mouth to say something but before he could get a word out, the man just leaned forward to press his lips to his.

It was a chaste, wine sweet kiss, over too soon. The other abruptly drew himself back, hands sliding slowly down Harry’s arms as he did so.

“I’m sorry,” He muttered, looking shocked at himself.

And then he was gone, leaving Harry standing there, the tips of his fingers still tingling in the sudden absence of the other’s warmth.

So were his cufflinks.

The **_exploding_** Kingsman issue cufflinks.

_Oh for fuck’s sake._

_ _

It was official. Eggsy was an idiot.

“Gary Edward Unwin, you are a fucking _idiot.”_ Eggsy said to himself out loud for good measure as he tried to disappear down the side corridor as quickly as he could, trying to put as much distance between him and the dance floor as possible.

What the _hell_ had possessed him to do any of that? That wasn’t what he had come here for.

That wasn’t even _remotely_ close to what he had come here for.

Actually, he didn’t even know what he was doing here.

This wasn’t his usual game. Even back home, he was just a small-timer, the sorts that lifted a bill or two from a man’s jacket or swiped a tourist’s purse while they were taking a photograph…Just a bit of pickpocketing whenever he could or maybe a nifty card trick that was really sleight of hand to con passer-bys out of a small bet or two - anything, really, to make up the shortfall at the end of every month when the bills came in and maybe some sweets for Daisy.

He hadn't expected to run into such a fancy rich party here and curiosity had gotten the better of him. Still, he hadn’t expected to actually get in. Who knew the man at the door would’ve bought the stupid get-up he’d gotten from a gimmicky tourist shop and be so receptive to his flirting? He had thought that he would be thrown out by security in three seconds flat. Or maybe it was his accent that was clearly not from around these parts that had sealed the deal. Not that he was complaining because the pickings were great – a diamond bracelet slipped off a lady’s wrist while he pressed a kiss to her hand, a rose gold monocle picked from a distracted gentleman’s pocket as he passed…These people were all so rich that these were probably nothing to them anyway.

It must have been the party. The whole dizzying atmosphere of the grand ballroom and the music and the food and the wine and the jewels and gold and sheer _luxury_ ….It must have all gone to his head. He really hadn’t meant to approach the other man like that though, much less go through that whole song and dance of flirting and _total eye-fucking_ and that _goddamn **waltz.**_ He could still feel the warmth of the other’s breath ghosting across his lips and the heat of his fingers intertwined between his…

The other’s cufflinks, however, were like fucking _ice_ in his hands.

He really hadn’t meant to steal the cufflinks for all that they were made of diamond and white gold and had looked very nice the first time he had saw them. His fingers had just reacted on instinct when the man had stumbled and crashed into him… and so had his mouth, apparently, because the heat from the dance had probably fried his brains or something. That was the only explanation for that kiss.

And then he had fled because really, what else was he supposed to do? Eggsy groaned and slumped against the nearest wall, slapping a hand over his face. He wanted to die from the mortification of it all.

It was just…The man _should_ have been unremarkable. His suit and tie, although they fit him too well to be nothing else but expensively tailored from head to toe, was far simpler than the garb of the people around him but... _somehow_ from the moment their eyes had met, it was as if he couldn't look away. Like he had been captured somehow. Perhaps it was something about that magnetic confidence, compelling stance and solid assurance that practically rolled off his shoulders in waves that had drawn Eggsy to him in a manner that he couldn’t have escaped.

But beyond it all, unlike the rest, the man didn’t have that touch of snobbishness or arrogance in his dark brown eyes, but rather, a touch of kindness, understanding and strangely enough, world-weariness. There was also something else, something _darker_ , there beneath the glossy brown, something that had hinted at danger when the light flashed through them and it had sent a _thrill_ down Eggsy’s spine, made the tips of his fingers tingle and his mouth go just a little dry-

“I must say, if you intent to lift a painting or two, flitting about in the shadows around them is probably the surest way of getting caught.”

“You callin’ me a thief-“ Eggsy jumped at the sudden voice, then froze as he remembered where he was and who he was supposed to be. A rich prat who had all the right in the world to be here staring at pictures that made no sense but was worth far more than any sum of money the real him could ever earn. He cleared his throat and straightened up a little, sticking his chin out to give off a bit of pretentious flair. He didn’t turn, however. He knew better than that. He wasn’t quite yet collected enough to lie to someone’s face at the moment.

“Er, I mean, me, a thief? Of course not!” He spluttered, internally grimacing at his words. Hell, he didn’t know he was that shaken. He needed to get a grip before he got found out as a bloody thief. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m just ah…admiring this painting. Very nice, you know. I’ve always been a fan or er…er…”

He stared helplessly at the painting before him. “Picasso?”

“That is a Dega.”

“ _Right,_ I meant that,” He snapped back, annoyed.

“Did you now?”

“Look, I haven’t done s-“ Eggsy finally turned around, exasperated at whoever was being so damn persistent and then just stared in horror at the all too familiar face.

Really, he should’ve known from the voice but apparently, he had been too frazzled to notice.

“Oh _fuck_ it’s you.”

“I believe you have some things of mine that I am keen to recover,” The man said smoothly, his face perfectly calm - _too calm_ , actually. Like the calm before a storm. His hunch that the other was different somehow, beneath that controlled veneer, might have just been right. Regretfully so. He had felt that faint inkling of dark danger when he had danced with him, movements all smooth and refined but precise and calculated, like a viper ready to _strike_ in all its glory and _when the fuck did he even get so poetic?_

Eggsy took a quick glance down the corridor to his left. He had really messed up big time. But even so…his gaze flitted back to the other man again, taking in the mahogany staff (and not the way his jacket was tapered around his waist, _dammit_ ). The man’s leg was not in his favour and Eggsy had years on his side…even if those years had done the man very, very well indeed. Fuck, was it even legal to look like that and wear perfectly fitting suits and speak like some bloody Victorian gentleman stepped out of Downtown Abbey an’ shit? Someone should arrest the man, geez.

 _Priorities, Unwin!_ His mind screamed at himself and he shot the man another nervous look. Forcing his nerves to calm down, or at least wear a pretence of doing so, he took a step forward and prayed that his voice wouldn't shake.

"Well, what can I say?" He gave a small shrug and forced a broad smirk on his face. He held his hands up and winked at the man. "You got me..."

“... _not_!” Eggsy quickly threw his weight to his left and burst into a sprint down the corridor, cape fluttering in his wake. He heard a loud swear behind him and then rapid footsteps chasing after him.

The man was actually keeping up with him. _The man was actually keeping up with him._

What the hell?! What happened to that busted leg? This shouldn’t even have been possible. Eggsy was starting to panic now as he flew down the corridor, not even knowing which direction he was going anymore. He just had to get away. He couldn’t get caught _here._ There would be no getting out of this. It would be, literally, straight to jail. Do not pass Go.

Out of the corner of his eye, he spied an open door and ducked through the doorway, slamming the door behind him in a hurry and scrambled for a lock, only to realise that the goddamn door didn’t even have a knob. Groaning, Eggsy backed up slowly against the wall, slipping into a fighting stance. If it came down to it, he’ll knock the other out to make his escape. He couldn’t end up in jail or _worse_ or whatever those rich fuckers would do to him, a thief caught in their midst. What was his mum and lil’ sis back home going do without him? He would fight like a wild cat if he had to. No hell way was he going to go to jail like this. In another country to boot.

The other’s footsteps grew louder as he approached. The man had slowed down into a steady, heavy walk that did nothing to reassure Eggsy’s heart that felt like it was about to race out of his chest.

Then he noticed the faint stream of light by his side.

 _What the_ \- He spun around and followed the tiny stream of light. The back of the room was cast in shadows and what he had assumed to be a curtain covering a marble wall picked up and fluttered with a little with the small breeze slipping in from the outside. He reached up and took a hold of a corner of the thick velvet drapes to draw them aside.

Behind was a plain wooden door opened just a sliver to let the light come through. He rested a hand on the cool, carved wood for a moment, praying to every single god he could think of and his computer, then leaned on it. The door opened slowly with a long groan.

Beyond it lay a small balcony, marble shining white in the moonlight against the night sky.  Across the canal, the lights of Venice glittered across the dark expanse of the water.

Here, the air was cool and fresh on his face and Eggsy came to a stop before even realising it, too caught up with the scene before him to notice.

He had forgotten how beautiful Venice could be, especially at night. The sound of the water gently lapping at the sides of the buildings was soothing above the soft, faint bustle of the city and gondolas slowly moving through the small, rolling waves.

Then the sound of a door practically _exploding_ open jarred him back to his senses and Eggsy cast a horrified look back, then spun around and leaped onto the parapet to jump off because even being in the goddamn canal would be better than this when he was abruptly yanked back.

For some stupid reason, instead of his life flashing through his eyes, all he got was one sodding movie quote: _“No capes_!” Which in retrospect, was pretty solid advice. Pity he hadn’t taken it up.

He tumbled back down from the railing and should’ve landed squarely on the polished marble floor of the balcony with a loud thud and probably a cracked skull, but instead he ended up stopping in mid-air, with something suspiciously warm and solid around him.

“Just repaying the favour,” The man said as Eggsy reopened his eyes reluctantly to slowly stare up at the other’s amused face. He took in how they were positioned, him being caught in the other’s arms like he’d swooned straight into it or something and Eggsy wanted to sink straight into the marble floor and bury himself there.

“Good evening,” The man greeted, pushing up the black frames on his nose a little. The ring on his finger glittered in the moonlight that cast a silvery halo over his perfectly coiffed dark brown hair. His eyes were crinkled a little at the edges, no doubt from the traces of mirth reflected in the warm brown that Eggsy’s mind was currently conjuring up lines that would fit right in the sappiest romance movies to describe.

“Uh…good evening?” Eggsy managed, thoroughly confused now as the man offered him a hand. He grabbed it and let the other help him get to his feet, backing up a bit warily.

“By the way, you may address me as Harry Hart,” The man - no, Harry, a name that, Eggsy noted in an oddly satisfied way, suited him well - continued in measured, elegant tones. He let his gaze linger over Eggsy even as he straightened out his suit that had rumpled a little from the running. Then he reached for the ends of his sleeves, pulled back the ends of his suit to nonchalantly slip back the white gold cufflinks back into the buttonholes.

Eggsy gaped at him like a fish and opened his palms only to see nothing. When the hell had he got them back?

Harry finished doing up his sleeves and slipped the sleeve of his suit back down, smoothing out the crinkles. He then moved to rest his hands on his walking stick, long fingers wrapping elegantly over the golden knob in a way that made Eggsy want to whimper a little. Great, apparently his mind was so far gone in the metaphorical gutter that he was more preoccupied with getting fucked than how fucked he was.

"Hart eh?" He managed to say without stuttering too much, "So what're you? Count? Duke? Viscount? Archbishop?”

“An Archbishop is a religious title," Harry said, long tapered fingers tapping a little on his staff. "I am afraid that I do not have the fortune to hold any such titles of the sorts. I merely am of...modest background."

Eggsy snorted a little. Harry probably thought he was a shite thief, but surely he didn’t think he was an idiot too? Modest, looking and acting like that and being at a fancy party like this? If that was _modest_ , Eggsy was a goddamn prince. Or superspy.

“Modest eh? By your standards or mine?”

He nodded at Harry, gesturing uselessly in the air at… _well,_ all of the other.

“That suit ain't modest, just saying."

To be honest, neither was the frame it fit over, not that he was going to say that.

Harry merely tilted his head a little, gaze never leaving him. The intensity made Eggsy shiver a little but he refused to look away. Instead, he mustered up his strength and glared back even more defiantly. Basic law of the streets - first to show any sign of submission was doomed. Besides, the other might’ve caught him for now, but Eggsy was sure as hell going to get away somehow. Just. You. Wait-

"You certainly were not half this audacious earlier. And much more charming."

Eggsy blinked and his half-formed escape plan skidded to a crashing halt.

"So you did find me charming,”

The words were out of his mouth before he could process them and he couldn’t stop the pleased half grin from forming on his lips. Harry actually looked slightly taken aback at his words, but then an approving smile grew on his face and Eggsy felt a genuine flush of pride shoot through him.

“Very much so-” Harry started, then frowned. “I do not believe you offered me your name.”

From the party, the faint echoes of the silvery melody of the next dance was starting up. Some clouds overhead must have parted because the moonlight only shone brighter now in between them, a gentle, misty white glow that made the dew on the red roses encircling them shimmer.

“Uh...Eggsy, it’s Eggsy.”

“So _… Eggsy,_ I would very much like to hear the reason for your...rather interesting activities at the ballroom just now.”

“Frankly, I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about, I jus-”

Harry gave him a pointed look and Eggsy snapped his mouth shut. He scrunched up his mouth, made a series of faces, then sighed and wrung his hands. The rose slipped from his fingers and fell back down amongst the vines.

 _“Look,_ I know it ain’t right and all but, I mean it’s not like any of them in there would’ve missed anything. It’s probably nothing but like pennies to them, what’s one diamond out of a thousand? But do you know what just a teensy bit of that means to me? To my family? To my entire goddamn neighbourhood? I’ve never even seen a real fucking diamond before. Never even _dreamt_ that I could. And the people in there, they’re just dropping gems and gold and shit into their fucking drinks and food for fun even though just a bit of that could pay my family’s bill and groceries for half a year or even little Jamie’s from next door medical bills or Angela’s music classes ‘cause she’s got a real talent but she can’t even afford an instrument much less the Stradis the performers inside are apparently using - All this is _nothing_ to people like you, up in your ivory tower and shit but it’s _everything_ to us….”

He let his words trail away as the heat behind them faded, leaving a gaping silence between Harry and him. Harry hadn’t said a word all throughout his outburst, merely regarding him silently with an unreadable expression in his eyes.

“I wasn’t going to catch you,” He spoke up finally and Eggsy just stared back at him, stunned.

Harry sighed. “You probably won’t believe me, but the circumstances about me are more complicated than you could imagine. I would never have called you out, as you seem to think. The cufflinks would have brought you more trouble than you would have bargained for. _That_ was the only reason I chased after you in the first place….”

Then he stepped forward, leaning closer to Eggsy and letting his gaze linger over his face. A corner of his lips quirked upwards. “Or _perhaps_ , there was something more.”

Harry moved back and Eggsy slowly let out the breath he didn’t realise he had been holding out. He shifted a little under the other’s close scrutiny.

“Fancy you’re Lupin, are you.”

“’m sorry?”

“Arsene Lupin? ...Danny Ocean? You know what, nevermind. My point is that you’re a thief trying to adhere to a strict honour code -”

“Ah yeah, like Edward Pierce, a gentleman thief, I know what that is.”

Harry’s eyes glittered. “Well, aren’t you full of surprises.”

Eggsy shuffled and ducked his head a little, trying to push down the oddly pleased feeling in his chest and hoping that the heat on his face wasn’t from a flush.

“Look I’m sorry for this but- I’d really thought you were just some rich poncy an’ that you would’ve called security straight on my arse or something. You sure don’t run like a rich old man though.”

“Or dance like one,” He added as his mind strayed back to the waltz

“Oh trust me, I am skilled in many areas,” Harry said smoothly, twirling his cane a little as he stepped forward. Eggsy’s eyes widened and he gulped, sliding his foot back a little.

“Oh _yeah?_ Know what I’m thinking right now?”

“That you should probably give me back what you took from me.”

“I didn’t take anything more than your cufflinks! And you got ‘em back already!”

The cold marble of the balcony parapet dug into his back, effectively cutting off his ability to backup any further.

“And what about the kiss?”

“What about it?” Eggsy shot back, letting his mouth twist into a roguish smile and a touch of smarmy confidence show on his face as he pushed himself forward, towards Harry. He met the other halfway, tilting his chin up such that their gazes met.

Two could play at this game.

He raised a gloved hand so close to the side of Harry’s face, grazing his temple just a little such that he could feel the warmth of the other’s skin through the white satin.

“I believe one is supposed to wear a mask at a masquerade.”

Harry sucked in a breath and inclined his head, amusement sparkling in his eyes once more.

“I am sorry to disappoint you then.”

“Well,” Eggsy began slowly, teasing his lower lip with his teeth a little. His hand shifted to rest lightly on Harry’s shoulder, tracing small circles over the well-cut fabric. “Maybe I find you even more fascinating without your mask.”

“You could always remove yours too,” Harry remarked and reached up to grip the side of his mask, sweeping his thumb over the smooth black surface over his cheek. It made Eggsy shiver - from the heat radiating from the gentle hold of those fingers by the side of his face, from wondering what those long, elegant but so deft, fingers would feel like over his skin, down his sides, taking what they wanted…

“Is it not tradition to only reveal one’s face at midnight?” He shot back, hoping the other wouldn’t feel the rising heat on his face.

Harry tutted softly and shook his head. The moonlight made his eyes flash and there it was again, that hint of dark, alluring danger, wild and tempting.

The cold, slightly salty night wind that had picked up was like pinpricks on Eggsy’s heated skin. He could feel his pulse starting to pick up and _race_ , thrumming loudly in his ears.

 _“Now,_ Harry continued murmur in his dark silky voice, leaning forward to pin Eggsy against the marble parapet, hand sliding down to cup his jaw firmly. He brushed against the edge of his lower lip with his thumb, teasing at it a little. “I hardly think it is fair that you say this now after stealing that kiss from me. Therefore, would you not make it up to me by agreeing to my little request?”

Eggsy let out a long, shuddering breath at the other’s movements but slid his hand slowly over the expensive suit jacket to rest behind Harry’s neck, moving his other hand to join the first. He shifted on the parapet such that he was now sitting on it instead, cape billowing out in the night sky over the dark waters. From this position, his face was almost at the same height as Harry’s, letting him meet his gaze easily which he did so with a defiant, smug grin.

“Rather forward for a _gentleman_ like you,” Eggsy replied, letting his fingers dance down Harry’s front to wrap around his tie, pulling him in slowly such that their bodies pressed up against each other’s with each word. “…don’t you think?”

He dropped his hands from the other and let his fingers scramble across the cool marble until they curled around one of the rose vines and felt soft petals. Gripping one of the rose blossoms, he pulled one out and held it by his lips with a small wink.

“So…if you’re a gentleman, and I’m a gentleman thief,” He kissed the flower and then proffered it to the other with a flourish.

_“Won’t you let me steal you away?"_

Harry’s eyes danced with amusement as he took the blossom and tucked it into his suit pocket. His hand resting by the side of Eggsy’s jaw stroked his cheek tenderly.

“Perhaps I’m not quite a gentleman as you think,” He said softly, gently tucking an errant strand of hair behind Eggsy’s ear. “After all, gentlemen don’t go running off with thieves, no matter how pretty they are, in the middle of the night.”

“Oh but I think you are,” Eggsy grinned, teasing his lip with the edge of his tongue and pressing his knees right up the other’s sides. He hooked his arms around Harry’s neck and cocked his head a little. “A real gentleman that’ll treat me all right all night.”

“Well, if you _insist_ ,” Harry replied indulgently and though he did not look away, Eggsy could feel his fingers threading gently through his hair to reach for the ribbons of the mask. Sighing, he just closed his eyes as those fingers delicately undid the ribbons in his hair and then curved around the sides of his mask to slowly peel it away from his face. The cool night air rushed in and made him catch his breath, lips parting a little in surprise and then parting even further as Harry tilted his head up to claim them.

There was nothing simple about this kiss now. This was all searing fire and hungry passion and Eggsy couldn’t help reaching up to tangle his fingers up in Harry’s dark brown hair, pressing himself right up against the other to draw closer. Too soon, Harry was pulling away from him and Eggsy gave a small, low noise of protest and leaned forward to try and draw him back but the other simply pressed a finger to his lips to stop him.

 _“Now,_ I may be a _gentleman_ ,” Slick dark brown locks brushed across his cheek lightly as Harry leaned forward to whisper into his ear, the hot breath of his words ghosting across Eggsy’s shoulder as he did so. He could feel Harry’s fingers trailing down his front, over the ruffles and laces, delving lower and lower until they traced agonisingly slowly over the front of his trousers.

_“But that doesn’t mean I won’t be taking you to bed tonight.”_

_ _

_ _

Eggsy has long since learnt several vital facts about Harry Hart: He was a surprisingly clingy big spoon, an absolutely _horrible_ morning person and had a serious, serious liking for blueberry pancakes. Like, a liking that bordered on fanatical. Specifically, they _had_ to be home-made ones that Eggsy made for him on Sunday mornings because he couldn’t do without the ‘special batter mix’ that he used. (Honestly, Eggsy didn’t have the heart to tell him that it was pretty much just instant batter.) He had been up since about half an hour ago and he’d tried to order room service in but Harry had just grumbled for ten minutes straight until he’d given up. The gentleman just had to have his pancakes specially made for him

Fucking useless posh bastard, really.

.. _.Well, at least he was **his**  posh bastard._

Eggsy sighed and kicked off the covers, giving up on trying to nudge away the other’s deadweight arm over his middle. The night’s sleep had refreshed him but there was still a faint, pleasant ache in his limbs. Speaking of last night…

“I didn’t even make off with a painting or two,” He made a show of grumbling, poking at the other’s shoulder as he did sos. Eggsy wasn’t sure when they had first started the habit of this, this little show and play of roleplaying ridiculous scenarios while on the off time in their missions, but he wasn’t complaining. Especially not when it always ended in fucking spectacular sex.

The mask had come to very, very good use last night.

 _Masks,_ man, who knew?

Beside him, Harry made a muffled noise from where his head was buried in the fluffy pillow, turning a little to blink at Eggsy in the morning light. His hair was all mused from sleep, spilling over the white silk of the pillowcase in a mess. 

“Well, you got me,” He said with a small yawn. “I dare say I’m worth much more than any Dega or Monet.

“I wouldn’t have to make breakfast for a Dega,” Eggsy shot back but let Harry draw him in anyway, relaxing into the other’s hold.

“Mm,” Harry mumbled back, nuzzling into his bare shoulder a little. “But a Dega wouldn’t have been able to do what I did last night and I seem to recall that you enjoyed it _very much_.”

“…Merlin’s probably going to kill us when we get back, you know,” Eggsy mused to himself, wrapping his arms around Harry’s. “We just got lucky that Tristan had already settled the target before the party, otherwise we wouldn’t have been able to…well, _play_ so much last night.”

“All the more reason for us to delay reporting in and enjoy this morning,” Harry said petulantly even as Eggsy tried, half-heartedly, to scoot out of the other’s arms.

He sighed and then shoved his face right up in front of Harry’s, noses almost touching.  He scrunched his face up playfully.

“…If you don’t let me get up I can’t make those pancakes for you.”

“I think I know of something _sweeter_ I’d like,” Harry replied, a small, still slightly sleepy smile slowly spreading over his face as he leaned forward to press a soft kiss to Eggsy’s lips.

“By the way, do you really not know a Dega from a Picasso?”

“Oh _piss off_ , Harry.”

 

_**Merlin’s Notes:** Never, ever, ever send Galahad or Gawain (and certainly not them **both)** to Italy ever again. **Ever.**_

 

_****_

 

 

  



	5. An 1815 Napoleonic Brandy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   
>  Summary:
> 
> There’s a beautiful boy in town and he walks into your shop, into the life you’ve built out of cards, with a shadow trailing behind and old whispers of unspoken confessions around his shoulders. There’s a beautiful boy in town and he walks into your life, hurting and scared, and you are too, because all your foundations come crumbling down under his touch - and you don’t know it yet, but that’s okay.
> 
> Or rather, simply just this:
> 
> Harry can’t help but constantly wonder the reason for the profound sadness on the face of the nice young man who helps out at his little tailor shop.  
> 

  
Chapter 1

* * *

 

Harry Hart may have forgotten his life in the aftermath of the strange events that had gripped the world four years ago, but he knows much more now: He knows his name and he knows Shepfield, the lovely, if slightly odd, town for him to make his home and run his little bespoke tailor shop in. He knows a smattering of his fellow townfolks (all rather nice chaps really), he knows the cornerstore at the far end of the street stocks a lovely selection of eclectic tea blends, he knows the way the surf runs up the shore at the beach a little way down the highway, he knows the smell of hydrangeas in spring and the feel of every deep breath of salty sea air.

Apparently, nearly dying and losing all your memories tends to change a person. He would be lying if he claimed to not have wondered about who he was before he lost his memories, but the doctors had told him that he had been lucky that a mild head wound and amnesia was all he had received. Besides, Harry did not particularly want to think about what sort of life the previous him must have had - a life without family or friends, spent being just another cog in the wheels of a global corporate machine, it had seemed.

It was not as if he could return to that life, nor did he want to.  The courteous, if terse, letter of “regretful termination” he had received after returning back to the property registered to him in London had put an end to that avenue. At least the company had enclosed a substantial settlement for him, along with strangely detailed folders of advice to relocate, most of the information on Shepfield, curiously enough. In addition to the surprisingly substantial savings his previous self had amassed, it was more than enough to start rebuilding a new life outside London. Anyway, the whole world had changed four years ago, enough that there were so many men and women out there finding a new life - Harry just became another one of them.

Shepfield was nice enough. It was one of those small, quiet places where half the town had grown up together and the other half was retirees trying to escape the hustle and bustle of larger cities. Situated along the sea, the town was always filled with the crisp, slightly salty sea wind, and there was thick, rolling mist sometimes in the night. Still, it wasn’t quite that small such that his bespoke tailor shop had no business. The town centre had plenty of little shops - restaurants, a post office and even a quaint little coffeeshop slightly off the main road. Besides, the view of the sunset from the town square was really quite magnificent. Nothing really seemed to happen in Shepfield, but the hydrangeas seemed to bloom extra brilliantly. Life was slow, but it suited him just well.

All in all, it was quite lovely.

The clock chimed and Harry sighed, replacing the white tea cup in his hand onto the delicate saucer gently. It made the softest whispering clink, the way only truly good porcelain can. It had cost him a small fortune to import the set into the country, but tea was only as good as the vessel it was served in. An investment worth having, really.  The aroma of carefully simmered English breakfast - full, dark leaves steeped for three minutes in fresh glass bottled water, never from the tap, boiled to the perfect temperature and served with exactly two touches of milk -still lingered in the air of the upper room. He remained in the chair of his modest dining set, hands resting lightly on the good solid oak table and simply breathed in the calming scent of brewed tea and basked in the feeling of the warm morning sunlight streaming in through the shades on his skin.

It was good to be alive.

But there was work to be done. Harry pushed himself up from the chair and with an easy, single fluid motion, slipped into the fitted coat of his charcoal grey pinstriped suit he had selected for the day. It was a little fancy for such a little town, but he was still a tailor. The thought of an ill-dressed tailor was frankly revolting - a show of shoddy workmanship was unforgivable for any respectable gentleman.

Oddly enough for the day, there was already a young man milling around the storefront when Harry ambled down the stairs below to the main shop. He swept a keen, perfectionist eye over the neatly lined up shelves of carefully displayed ties and cufflinks, made a mental note that the accounts for the month had to be done today, and then walked over to flip the little bronze plate on the heavy glass door.

The man hesitated on the step for a moment, before stepping in slowly, his gait slightly heavier on one leg than the other. He was hardly like any of Harry’s usual walk-in customers - being a little shop in a small town that it was, most of his clients usually found _him_ and strolled in knowing exactly what they wanted, even if Harry had to offer some finely worded opinions to subtly nudge their requests a little. They were usually also much older than the young man here, who looked to be no more than in his early twenties, if Harry had to guess.

Even though he was not in a suit, he looked comfortable in the white dress shirt and slacks he was wearing, the lines of which fell about very complimentary to the man’s undeniably fine physique. He wandered about the shop with the familiar ease of one used to patronising such places, but there was a certain something to his gaze, something that indicated far more than a mere familiarity...and more like a strange intimacy with the beautiful arrangement of neat lines and dark mahogany that Harry had painstakingly designed himself.

He was probably reading too much into things and anyhow, what was he _doing_ , looking over a young man practically half his age? It was downright inappropriate behaviour - the man was a customer, for crying out loud! Even if there was something about that face that kept drawing his eyes back...Harry scowled a little and shook his head. If this was how he was going to be the moment an attractive customer walked in, he might as well close shop right now. Firmly chiding himself mentally, he drew in a deep breath of the morning air, still cool despite the slow trundle of the seasons into a balmy summer, and strode over to slot himself behind the long counter.

“Can I assist you, sir?”

The young man gave a little start at his sudden words, one hand darting like lighting to his side before freezing a hand’s span away from the fabric and the other curling into a fist.  Harry blinked at the man’s reaction; he could have sworn that for a split second, there was a bright spark of panic that had flared through the man’s eyes.

“Um…” Harry started, unsure of how to proceed, but the man seemed to have noticed the discomfort his reaction had caused and straightened up, wrapping his left hand over his right. The slight tremors racing along the man’s right hand that Harry had initially thought was the light playing tricks on his eyes seemed to have intensified, much to the consternation on the man’s face.

“I...I’m sorry, I’m not actually here to buy ah..to buy a suit,” The man begun, in an odd rolling mix of a posh Londoner’s accent with a strangely broguish inflection. He shuffled a little on his feet, ducking his head slightly, _sheepishly,_ oddly bringing to mind the image of a puppy. “I was uh...wonderin’ if you might want some help?”

“Help?”

“Uh...yea’, help. I’m sorry, I just moved here from London ‘cause of a...car... accident actually-”

That would explain the strange, slight limp to the man’s step and the faint but still unmistakable red lines of scarring over his hands.

“My word, are you alright?”

“Yea’ the doctors stitched me right back and I feel fine an’ all, but I’m supposed to rest and recover, you know, all that. But uh, it’s been boring as hell - although Shepfield’s a real sweet place!” The man nibbled on his lip nervously and folded his hands behind his back.

“I’m not askin’ for much, maybe just a chance to hang around and help out…I know it sounds weird an’ all, but I know my way around a tailor, I know my stuff. I uh, learnt it ‘cause...I wanted to be lik-uh, I wanted to be a tailor when I was a lil’ kid. But this is the only tailor in the whole of Shepfield and the next few towns, actually, so...here I am. I can’t do any real sewing but I can still help move things ‘round, y’know…”

“Sure.”

The word was out of his mouth before his mind even registered it. The young man, who looked like he was on the verge of launching into yet another lengthy explanation, looked caught off guard.

“.. _.’scuse me_?”

Harry just blinked back at the young man, trying to pretend that he had not just said that out loud without thinking. He gestured broadly to the shop around him, desperately trying to think of something to fill the heavy silence that had fallen.

“I could use some help with the more physical chores. After all,I am not exactly young and fit as a fiddle to cart around bolts of cloth and mannequins anymore. Your offer is quite timely, actually, but I am afraid that I have never had the fortune to have an employee before, so I’m not entirely too sure how to go about it actually…” Harry continued smoothly on, putting on the appearances of being completely unruffled, although his mind was internally going off the rails trying to figure out what on earth he was doing. What _was_ he doing? “Do you happen to have a suit, Mr...ah, I am afraid I did not get your name?”

“Oh, it’s E- I mean, Gary. Gary...Lee,” The man supplied, looking downright befuddled now.

“Very well, Mr Lee, do you have a suit?”

“Gary’s fine, Mr Hart…” Gary replied, then he furrowed his brows a little. “Uh...I didn’t actually think ta bring a suit over so…”

“Well now, we can’t be having that, can we? After all,  the first thing every gentleman needs is a good suit. And by that, I mean a bespoke suit.”

The strangest mix of emotions flickered over Gary’s face in that second. Then just as abruptly as it had happened, it was wiped away, as if a switch had been flicked in the man. Gary wore a smile now, a little quirk to the edges of his lips, playful and teasing. It almost seemed natural, it almost seemed real - if not for the wash of emotions that had preceded it, which only made obvious how the action was forced, beneath the surface.

“Unfortunately for ya, this is all I got so...I still got the job or what?” He quipped, a light-hearted note in his lilting voice. Still, there still a profound sadness in his eyes, the intensity of which could not be masked so easily.

The change would have been fascinating, if it were not accompanied by the saddening knowledge that only certain types of people could do it so well - con men and those the world has not been kind to. For all that he had known the young man in an almighty span of about ten minutes probably, Harry was dead certain that he did not belong to the former category.

“I suppose your current outfit would suffice, it does look sharp and respectable enough. I open at ten in the morning, I expect to see you here bright and early tomorrow,” Harry decided at last, feeling a strange, unexplainable warmth blossom in his chest as he watched Gary smile, truly smile, for the first time.

“Thank you,” Gary said softly, looking up to meet his eyes fully for the first time in their conversation. “It really means a lot, to me. _You have no idea…”_

The last statement was whispered so softly that Harry thought he almost imagined it. With that, the young man nodded a goodbye and turned to depart, the bell hanging over the door ringing aloud in the now empty shop in his wake.

A veritable enigma, frustrating in its perplexity and yet beguiling in its mysteries, had walked into his shop this morning it seemed. And it had thrown him completely. Harry Hart prided himself on being a level-headed, down to earth man, but it seemed as though however firmly one had their head on their shoulders, there was always someone who could make it spin.

He needed a drink. It was not even noon yet, but this definitely warranted a drink. Besides, he could already feel the nudging pain of the periodic headaches at the edges of his mind. The doctors had told him it was a side effect from having lost his memory after being exposed to the cellular radiation three years ago. They had been horribly painful in the first few months, but now, most of the time, it was but a mild irritation that did not detract much from his daily activities. Still, the event earlier seemed to have sparked something that pushed it to edge once again.

Stifling a groan, Harry pressed the back of his right palm to his temple, then with his other hand, fished out a decanter of brandy and a single small glass from a small cupboard. A nineteenth century Napoleonic Brandy. It was by far the most ridiculous luxury he had allowed himself, but the flavour had haunted him with pressing urgency and no other drink had come close. Even this one, was not completely the flavour he had been compelled to find, but it was close enough. Every time the headaches became too overwhelming, a small dose of this brandy would never fail to ease it slightly.

But not this time.

Harry frowned at the deep amber liquid swirling in the glass decanter. It just did not feel right, this time, as if the act had a deeper meaning to it than merely dulling his senses with the edge of alcohol. A meaning that was contrary to someone entering his life. He set the decanter down with a sigh and then put it away.

Besides, he had the sinking feeling that it would not be the looming headache that would affect him this time, but rather the phantom ache that had ignited in his chest, a heavy hollowness that he never knew was there.

* * *

  
**Chapter 2**

The day after had been an odd affair of startled moments and hesitant conversations, but despite the strange circumstances of their meeting, things fell into place quickly enough over the week. There was a familiar heartbeat to the days now, a comforting rhythm to the routine they both settled into. At first, Harry had thought that the disturbance of the quiet solitude in which he worked in would be jarring, but Gary was a pleasure to have around, his presence almost soothing. He filled the silence like a missing piece of a jigsaw, fitting into a gaping hole Harry had never realised was once there.

From what he had seen of the other, in the long silent stretches that they worked in, Gary did his work diligently, the quiet strength of his gaze belaying the inner steel of his resolve. The man was mostly quiet and unobtrusive, but had the darnest habit of randomly spouting puns so _cringeworthy_ they sounded like they were plucked right out of a bad joke book that should be a joke in itself. If he had to hear one more pun on _h(e)arts_ or  _eggs..._   For all that it exasperated him, however, Harry had grown to be somewhat fond of those moments - because in them, Gary would have a little quirk to his mouth and a teasing twinkle in his eyes to go along with the ready quip already on his tongue. It was a rare departure from the usual lingering melancholy at the edge of those hazel green irises he usually glimpsed.

 Most of the time, Gary busied himself in the back room, carefully packing and arranging the boxes of thread and bolts of fabric. Even so, he seemed to have a strange knack for always being there whenever Harry turned, needing a hand. Other times, he joined Harry at his worktable, pouring over suit patterns and fabric samples in companionable silence, their arms always barely a hand’s span away from brushing against each other.

Although they had since wordlessly slipped into such an easy work tandem together in the little shop, Harry had yet to broach the subject of lunch. It was ridiculous, really - being such a small shop that it was in such a small town, the shop could easily be shut for an hour or two in the balmy lull of the afternoon. It was even a rather common practice. Still, Gary always demurred and made excuses on the matter, stepping around it as if the very suggestion were a bomb primed to go off any moment now.

Harry, on his part, was more than aware of the absurdity of the stilted exchanges the two of them were engaged in with regards to this topic, but it felt too strangely forward of him to make an overt invitation.

So it went on, Harry continuing on with his habitual lunch at exactly twelve in the afternoon and Gary... _well_ , Harry wasn’t entirely too sure where the other went to in the hour he had on his own after he returned to the shop.

Sighing, Harry replaced the bookmark back on the same page he had started on, then put the novel to a side and stretched out the little crick in his arm from where it had carried the heavy book for too long. Then he reached for the fork lying forgotten on the plate beside him and polished off the last few neatly cut bites of the sandwich that had been his lunch.

“I couldn’t help but notice you’ve a nice young man helping out at your place now,” Evangeline, the portly old lady with warm crinkles about her eyes who owned the café, remarked as she settled into the seat next to him. He frequented her little cafe often, initially favouring it because of its convenient location, but now more so for the rapport that he had struck up with its owner in those first few weeks when Harry had just moved to Shepfield and was still figuring out how to go about his life now. She, too, had come here to move on from a life irrevocably changed four years ago - the rest of her family had been traveling to visit her when the chaos started, and their bus had driven off a highway. There had been no survivors.  

“That would be correct,” Harry hummed in agreement, laying down the fork neatly and precisely across the plate. 

“It’s rare that we get young’uns in these part, especially those that stay for a while,” Evangeline continued, a thoughtful note in her voice. “How long will he be staying in our little town?”

At that, Harry did pause. How long was Gary staying? It was strange, the matter of fact way that Evangeline had put the question across - because of course, it was the most obvious question to ask, the most _obvious_ one to wonder. But he had never once thought it. And he didn’t know.  

 _But how could he_ not _be there?_

 “Harry…?”

 Harry blinked abruptly as he took in the suddenly too bright visage of the street and Evangeline’s concerned face before him once more.

 “ _Ah_ yes, I am quite fine, thank you. The sun is... _bright_ today.”

 She considered him for a moment, the strangest look in her eyes, then nodded. “Hmm, yes, the afternoons are certainly getting much longer as summer comes. You should take care that those headaches of yours are kept in check.”

 “But your young man…” She started again, turning to stare at the storefront of Harry’s tailor just across the street, “There are rarely coincidences in this little town, Harry.”

 “ _Ah_...yes, perhaps…” Harry replied and followed her gaze. From outside the shop like this, some distance away, he could just barely make out the other’s figure through the glass display windows.

 He had entertained those suspicions himself, every time he found his thoughts wandering in the middle of the work day while staring at the mysterious young man who had made himself at home in this space that he had called own.

He had asked Gary for the reason he had chosen Shepfield for before, for Pembrokeshire was a curious place for a Londoner to retreat to - rather out of the way even, when there was Suffolk or even Cornwall that surely had much more famous and convenient alternatives to little Shepfield. The young man had just shrugged loosely and said,” Shepfield’s just as good a town as any other, ‘sides, the people are nice, uh, _special_...ya know.”

Gary also insisted that he had never been here before, but Shepfield wasn’t quite that small a town, and the strange familiarity he exhibited when talking about it was quite contrary to his words.

 In short, his answers did nothing to satisfy his growingly insatiable curiosity, but Harry had decided that perhaps, it was best to let sleeping dogs lie.

Gary was certainly not the first lone traveller to come to Shepfield escaping a past, nor would he be the last. It was the nature of the town, it seemed, that it called out to the lost and hurting to come, heal and start anew.

 “Well, even so, I must admit, he is certainly a fine young man, in character and in others ways too. It must make that shop of yours much, _much_ brighter,” Evangeline remarked with a knowing grin.

Unfortunately, she had not exactly chosen an opportune moment to do so as Harry promptly choked on a mouthful of water at her words. He hastily set the glass back onto the table before he dropped it.

“I’m hardly of a suitable age any more to be eyeing young men, Evangeline,” Harry complained, dabbing at the corners of his mouth with the napkin he had hastily snatched up. She chortled, waving her hand dismissively at his exasperated sigh.

Of _course_ he had noticed.  It was almost unfortunate that he was only all too well aware of the fact that the other man was undeniably rather pleasant to the eye. The close proximity in which they worked in did not help it either. The firm set of the other’s jaw had made his scissors slip up more than once, and the way the other frowned and pursed his lips a little whenever he needed to concentrate had made him mess up the entire week’s accounts and he had to redo everything from the start.

He may have spent the last evening nursing a small bourbon, musing over his frustrations over the impropriety of it all, but no one needed to know that.

“Well, neither am I, but you don’t see me apologising for it,” Evangeline winked as she gathered up the dishes on the table. Waving her dishcloth in the air towards the direction of his place, she continued, “Now go on, don’t let this old woman keep you from that handsome young man.”

Shaking his head in fond exasperation, Harry gathered his things and got to his feet, carefully brushing down his suit as he did so. He crossed the small street, oxfords clicking crisply over the cobblestoned street and up the two short stairs up to his shop. He brushed past the heavy door easily, only barely registering the merry jangling of the dainty little bell hanging over it as he relaxed into the familiar scent of the cool, still air of his store.

Gary was currently dressing up the mannequins in the display window, hands smoothing over the merino and angora with the kind of finesse and reverence only those who worked with cloth knew. Harry placed his things on the counter and then leaned on the cool, polished wood to watch him work. He would have been good at this, Harry thought to himself, a thought he remembered first thinking on another slow afternoon, watching Gary sort through the pattern drafts and fabric samples, figure bathed in the white sunlight that turned misty as it shone through the small back room window. He was knowledgeable, earnest and dedicated and if not for the slight tremors that wracked his dominant hand…

And it had been his dream. The poor lad.

Wrapped in his thoughts, he failed to see his elbow pushing over the small stack of ledgers over the edge and the books toppled down with a series of heavy thuds, followed swiftly by a loud crash as part of the mannequin’s stand came crashing down to the ground.

Gary swore and immediately dropped to his knees to fix it, and Harry was over in two heartbeats and doing the same, only realising it when their fingers brushed against each other’s over the mannequin’s arm.

 The other snatched his hand back as if he had been scalded by _fire_. “Shit _, fuck_ , shit I’m so _sorry_ Mr Hart-”

“Gary, I’ve told you this time and time again, you can call me Harry,” Harry said, then realised his hand was still frozen in the air over the small mess in between them. He stared at it for a moment, at a loss of what to do with it, then looked up at Gary only to realise that the man’s eyes were fixed on it too, a contrite expression on his face.

“Oh uh yea’, sorry. Um, so sorry...”

 “... _Harry_.”

 Gary let out a sigh after that word, then seemed to crumble in on himself, as if all the air had been drawn from him. Cast against the light like this, the red of his eyes and the shadows beneath it were even more prominent against his gaunt appearance. It was the first time Harry had took in how exhausted his...helper? Employee? Friend? Acquaintance? _Protege_? The last seemed to ring right, for the strangest reason - but now was not the time for this, Harry chided himself as he moved closer to the other, stiffly pressing his arms to his side to still the unexplainable urge to reach over and gently take the other’s face in his hands to wipe away the exhaustion.

“Are you…” He paused, hovering in front of the other awkwardly, all too aware that he was probably looking more and more like a doll suspended on strings too taut. “...alright?”

Gary looked at him for a moment, then took a breath and nodded slowly. Wearing a small, easy grin on his face, he slowly got to his feet. However, the weariness in his eyes was unmistakable. He turned around to frown at himself in the long mirror in the corner, before letting loose a single peal of harsh laughter.

“Aw yea’ I look like right shit, sorry ‘bout that,” Gary sighed, then flailed about a little at his reflection as he realised that Harry was still watching him. “Uh…it’s nothin’, I just ain’t been sleeping well that’s all! _Uh.._.The sodding fire alarm o’er at the hotel wouldn’t stop going off all night so…”

 “You should _rest_ ,” Harry cut in firmly, settling a steadying hand on the other’s shoulder. The silk of his shirt was smooth under his fingers, but beneath it, he could feel the tautness of the tensed muscles strung up too tightly.

 “I’m alright! _For real_!”

Harry looked over Gary, taking in the tired tilt to his shoulders and the shadows written into his features despite the perky, stubborn smile he was trying to fix on his face.

“Well, at least sit down and let me make you a cup of tea then.”

“You don’t have to! I mean…” Gary said quickly, too quickly, then glanced about the shop wildly and jabbed a finger at the clock. “Ain’t it a bit early for a cuppa? An’ there’s still shop hours to go-”

“ _Nonsense,_ Gary. A well brewed cup of tea is always timely any time of the day. Besides, it hardly looks like the rest of the day will have any business at all,” He set the teapot down and promptly busied himself with preparing the tea, turning halfway while carefully pouring the warmed water into the loose leaves to frown at Gary’s unmoving figure.

 _“Sit,_ my boy.”

Gary looked like a truckful of books had hit him but he sat down anyway. He obediently took the delicate tea cup Harry offered and placed it in front of him. Harry poured out a cup of his own, before sitting back to watch the other.

Gary reached out for the cup and lifted it to his lips, a look of fierce concentration on his face even as he stared at his fingers that trembled ever so slightly on the dainty handle, much to a deep pang of regret inside Harry. It was the first time the two had sat down together like this, Harry noted to himself as he placed the cup back onto the saucer, internally engaging in a fierce debate on conversation starters. It felt awfully like a first date - all awkward pauses and gangly silences, peppered liberally with unsure and overly self-conscious moments. Good lord, had he really come to comparing himself to an adolescent on their first romance? Sure, it was not as if he had much of a chance to see another given his circumstances, but it was _just-_

Gary merely continued sipping at the cup for a while, eyes roving anywhere and everywhere but meeting Harry’s own. Then his eyes landed on the book by Harry’s elbow.

 “What book’s that?” He asked from behind the cup that he was clutching onto as if it were a lifeline and cocked his head a little to the right to gesture to it.

 “Oh this…? It’s Hemingway.”

 Gary’s eyebrows shot up and he stared at Harry, eyes wide for half a second, then hastily took a deep gulp of tea. “Ah yeah _,_ _‘course_ it’s _Hemingway._ ”

 He set down the cup shakily, then frowned intently, lips pursed in concentration. “There is nothing noble in being superior to your fellow man. True nobility is…ah _shucks_ , ah…oh yea! Superior to your former self, or something, eh?”

 Harry paused in the middle of nudging the book over to the other and looked up in surprise.  “I did not expect you to know that. I would not have pegged you as a reader of American literature.”

 Gary shrugged his shoulders in a loose, easy roll. “Yea’, I don’t, you’re right. I had... _a friend_ who loved quoting that though.”

 “He sounds more than just a friend,” Harry remarked matter-of-factly over the edge of his cup, before realising that he had said it out loud. He set the cup down a little too hard, a little too fast, and the porcelain made an infuriated screech in retaliation.

  _“Shit-_ I’m sorry, that was, er- out of turn, I-“

 His voice faltered and failed at the look on the other’s face.

 There was a pause, then Gary took a small breath and his eyes flickered slowly shut, flashing with… _reluctance, sorrow, regret, pain, hurt_ – it was hard to find the word.

  _“Yeah, he was.”_

* * *

 

   **Chapter 3**  
  


“The righteous perisheth, and no man layeth _it_ to heart: and merciful men _are_ taken away, none considering that the righteous is taken away from the evil _to come_ …”

There was something blasphemous about the line of thought he was currently pursuing, in church no less, and of course it was about Gary. Harry drew a deep breath and then shifted a little on the hard bench, folding his hands together on his lap. The people around him paid him no mind as he did so, except for a woman beside him who made a small disapproving noise.

Harry was not a religious man. He had tried seeking religion as an answer before, but no matter which church he sought out, the jittery attack of nerves and the sickening feeling of bile at the back of his throat would always plague him. Had it not been for the pastor’s personal invitation to the Easter service, Harry would never have stepped into the local church at all, especially when it looked like this, all traditional hardwood pews lined up before the crucifix at the very front.

 At least now, he could manage to sit here amongst the pews and not feel sick to his stomach, but there was still a bitter, metallic taste on his tongue that made his skin crawl.

 “I will now pass on the Lord’s Benediction…”

 The pastor continued on solemnly, raising his hands over the congregation who rose in tandem. Harry got to his feet along with them, steadying himself with deep breaths. He clasped his hands in front of him as everyone else bowed their heads in prayer, fingers digging a little too deeply into skin.

 “And may the blood of the resurrected Christ that has been spilt for us, cleanse you and protect you from sin, now and forever. _Amen._ ”

  _“Amen,”_ Harry whispered under his breath but the word was hollow. He was about to shuffle out of the chapel along with the rest of the crowd when a familiar figure caught his eye.

 Gary was standing amidst the pews, figure hunched forward over the back of one of the benches, looking straight ahead at the crucifix in front. He tensed a little upon hearing him approach, but relaxed when he looked up and took in Harry’s form.

“Harry! What are you doing here?” There was genuine surprise in his eyes and then concern. “Are… _are you alright_?”

There had been a sliver of a headache blooming at the back of his mind all throughout the service, but it was gone now.

“Yes, I am, but what are you doing here?”

Gary cast him a look, then turned to glance at the main entrance, where most of the congregation were still bottlenecked at, as most people had slipped into slow, easy conversations as they leisurely strolled out. Then he grabbed Harry’s arm and pulled him towards the side, nodding towards a small door there.

“That’s a side door that leads to a little path down a hill to the main road. _C’mon._ ”

Dumbfounded, Harry let himself be pulled along and followed the man out of the side door, blinking a little to adjust to the sudden bright wash of sunlight. There was a little dirt path there that wound down the side of the small hill the church was perched on and they both started down the path, side by side.

 “I did not know that you were a religious man,” Harry said as they both started down the gentle path, side by side.

 “I ain’t,” Gary replied, head angled towards the sky. Then he sighed a little. “But sometimes, all you can do is pray, ya know. For forgiveness. And more.”

 Harry frowned at that and turned his head to take in the other. The air around him was lighter now, brighter, like a weight of some sort had been lifted off his chest. They paced down the gentle slope, delicate powder blue forget-me-nots scattered amongst the wispy soft green grass swaying ever so slightly. The late morning sunlight still had a touch of warm gold to it and it cast a halo around Gary’s head.

He briefly toyed with the old thought he had been pondering, then decided why not.

“I was wondering…if you’d like to get lunch together.”

Gravel skittered under Gary’s feet as he missed a step, and Harry started towards him, but the man managed to catch himself at the last second. He turned to Harry, eyes wide, then the edges of his lips curled up into a teasing, playful grin.

“You be askin’ me out on a date now or what?”

Harry immediately spluttered, spilling into a barrage of half-formed words all mixed up into each other, then coughed deeply twice and settled himself. Gary was still watching him, a strangely expectant look in his eyes that Harry met with a steady gaze.

“I would love to, if you like.”

Then he remembered the other’s confession in the shop just a few days before.

“I apologise if the timing of this was inappropriate, I don’t mean to come across as -“

But the other had already turned from him and he let his words fall away. He watched on silently as Gary kicked at the little rocks on the ground, sending them flying some distance away. Then the young man shrugged, slipped his hands into his pockets and looked back at Harry, hair all tousled from the wind.  

“ _Nah_ , I’d love to.”

There was a touch of bashfulness to the quiet tone of the other’s words and the smile at the edges of his lips was shy and almost hesitant, but the warmth in Gary’s eyes was astonishingly real and warm and whole. Harry found himself staring at it, eyes wide, and his chest tight, as if all the air had been vanished from it in a single second. Then his shoes clicked loudly over hard stone as the path abruptly transitioned from dirt to cobblestone and he tripped. Strong, lithe hands were around him in an instance, steadying him and holding him up.

" _Woah,_ careful there old man. Didn’t anyone tell you falling for someone was just a metaphor?”

“Well, aren’t you just the cheekiest little bastard.”

His dry comment was met with clear, light laughter and overhead, a pair of larks called out to each other as they circled around in a sky so blue it had nary a cloud for as far as the eye could see. Now back on his feet, Harry fell into step with the other, a warm, small smile on his face growing to match the easy grin on the other’s.

A breeze lingered in a lazy stupor in the air, tinged with the sweet scent of the flowering hydrangeas and sweet peas. It was just another quiet afternoon ambling by in a slow cadence of its own.

The afternoon sunlight bathing the street was warm - not unpleasantly so - but bright enough that he had to raise a hand over his eyes for comfort from time to time. A young couple, both laden with backpacks twice their size, were the only people on the street of empty tables and chairs belonging to whimsical cafes. Probably out of season tourists who had come early to escape the summer crowds. There was always a strange, unexplained lull in tourist numbers just before the steep influx of city-folks seeking the beaches and a seaside respite from the urban monotony.

The little street slowly wound into the larger ones, before turning into the main street that ran through the town centre right down to the beach. Rows and rows of picture perfect pastel houses, with flowers spilling over each balcony, lined the cobblestone streets that wrapped around the idyllic bay. In the gaps between the buildings, they could glimpse the sea, its surface sparkling under the bright sunlight.

The town’s landmark, a crumbling stone turret that was still rather magnificent in its own, stood ahead and they passed under one of its five arches, the air beneath it cool and still and smelling of moss. The stone gate opened up to the town centre which was markedly livelier than the rest of the town, as people went about their shopping on a pleasant Sunday afternoon.

The pastel, candy coloured shopfronts with their gaily coloured awnings that fluttered a little in the sea breeze passed them on each side as they strolled down the street. A bookstore here, a café there, a little cornerstore smelling of boxed tea, a small boutique with its display dusted in amber spotlights, making the little dresses and sweet little pearl ornaments in its window glow…

The sweet smell of taffy and boiled sweets drifted over from the local candy store as they passed beneath its candy cane red awning edged with a cream border. Harry almost strode right past if not for Gary suddenly halting in his tracks and heading straight for the sniffing child in the store entrance that he had not noticed before.

“Hey there lil’ one, what’s wrong?” Gary whispered as he knelt in front of the little girl, who looked as if she was on the verge of bursting into tears now. She was twisting the edge of her dress with her fingers and Gary gently reached out to grasp her little hand to pull it from the fabric gently. “Now now, it’s alright, we don’t want ta be ruining your nice little Sunday dress, do we?”

The girl sniffed and nodded, shyly reaching out to hold onto the other’s hand instead. A gentle smile grew on Gary’s face, bright and infectious in its happiness. “So…what’s wrong? Where’re ya parents?”

The girl’s lips began to quiver again. “Mama…I don’t know!”

“ _Oh_ , my dear, no, it’ll be just fine, see, I bet your Mama is lookin’ for you right now. Just stay right here and she’ll be here before you know it,” Gary says back gently, then looks back to gesture Harry over frantically, before turning back to the girl. “You know what, stay right here and I’ll be back with a surprise, sound good yea?”

“What’re-“Harry whispers after him but Gary just shoots him a pleading look and then vanishes into the store. Harry winces a little at being left with the little girl – he was not good at being around children. They had a certain tenacity and inquisitiveness to them that he just could not keep up with. And oh god, was the girl going to start crying again? He should probably say something to comfort her, but _what?!_

Thankfully, Gary re-emerged from the shop again, with a little bag of bunny-shaped cake pops in his hands. Grinning, he dropped down onto one knee and proffered it to the little girl, who stared at them incredulously.

“Gotta have these during Easter, yea? Look ‘ow adorable they are! Bunnies an’ all,” He laughed and pressed them into the girl’s hands. “I used to eat ‘em all the time when I could during Easter ya know. Me mom got right mad at me for that sometimes.”

Then an anxious woman’s voice called out from behind them:

“ _Rose!”_

“Mama!”

The little girl’s eyes lit up and she immediately broke away from the both of them, little feet racing over the pavement, but turned back halfway through and grinned at Gary. “Thank you mister!"

"Youre good with children," Harry started as he watched the mother sweep the little girl up into her arms, then found himself transfixed by the other's expression. The warm smile Gary was wearing when looking at the two could melt _ice._  

"Uh yeah I suppose...I had a little sister, that's why," Gary replied finally, scratching at his head a little even as both of them continued walking onwards. 

 _Oh god no._  “I’m so sorry-“

“ _Nah,_ don’t sweat it. Sure I can't see her anymore but..."

They reached the cliff end of the main street and the rest of his words were snatched off by a loud shriek in the distance as the seagulls circled over the ocean. The wind whipped around the jagged cliff edge, sending their clothes fluttering and hair flying.

"Have you ever tried the little restaurant over by the clilff side?" Harry asked, desperate to find something to change the topic now.

“Never tried it but hey, I’ll have anything ya think is good.”

It was a little bistro built over the old stone walls that lined the edge of the cliff. Below, the deep sea green of the waves rushed up the shore and crashed against the rocks. The ocean spray below just barely touched them, being as high up as they were, but it was refreshing under the afternoon sun.

Gary surveyed his surroundings for a long moment, too intently for that to merely be appreciation, then relaxed into his chair.

“You sure have fancy tastes, or are ya just tryin’ to impress someone?” He grinned and reached out for one of the small leather bound menus.

“Well, I wouldn’t know about that,” Harry remarked, trying to settle the butterflies in his stomach. Truthfully though, it was a bit of both.He loved the view of the ocean this place afforded and the serenity of being able to watch the sun slowly set over the waters. It was where he usually retreated to savour the quiet joy of solitude and peace. The little things in life, he supposed. When one didn’t have very much at all to go off with, it was the little things in life that start making up for it all.

He sipped at his water slowly, watching the other go through a menu he already knew by heart. Gary wore an expression of deep concentration as he bent over the menu, trying to mouth out the French names. Harry found himself staring at that particular action intently, then blinked as the realisation hit him. He made himself look away, sure that there was a flush on his face now given the heat he could feel on the edges of his ears.

He wasn’t young anymore and this was just embarrassing. Four long years of struggling to find himself again, hardly ever paying the thought of love or sex any mind, and this young man had suddenly sparked everything he had pushed aside in that fog into a blazing fire. But it wasn’t right. Gary didn’t deserve that. He needed to get a grip, he thought to himself as he forcefully swallowed a large mouthful of water to make a mental point, but ended up choking and scrabbling for his napkin to cough into.

“ _Uhh…”_

Harry peered over the edge of the napkin to see Gary looking at him, mouth half open and a perplexed expression written into his brows. He waved his hand in the empty air for a moment and then pointed towards the menu.

“You should try the Crepe Suzette - they prepare it right before the customer here, flambé and all. It is really quite extraordinary…”

His words fell away as the blood immediately drained from the other’s face.

“That probably...ain’t such a good idea,” Gary muttered, rubbing at his covered right arm a little, before jerking his other hand away roughly with a frown. The days were getting warmer but Harry had rarely seen the other in anything else other than a long sleeved shirt and trousers.

“Right…” Harry murmured under his breath in mild mortification at the faux pas he had committed _again,_ and then looked around to hastily wave the waiter over. They ordered in hushed, subdued tones, then sat there, looking everywhere but at each other.

“I was-“

“Er-”

“Please, go ahea-“

“Nah, you firs-“

“I must insist-“

Somehow, some time during their elephant exchange, they had ended up looking right at each other again, eyes bright and shining with mirth. Gary burst out into a small fit of laughter and Harry himself couldn’t help the small upward curl of the corners of his lips.

“Soo….” Gary began slowly, pursing his lips together as he dragged out the vowel, ending the word with a slight pop. “You come here often then?”

“Yes I do,” Harry nodded at his surroundings, folding his hands in his lap. “I find it a particularly delightful place to while away a pleasant afternoon, with the company of a good book.”

“ _Books,”_ Gary scoffed light-heartedly, then shot him a playful look.  “Hemingway or somethin’ again I bet.”

“Hemingway is a much respected and influential author-“

“Yeah yeah, but gimme a good movie any day.”

“Probably some over the top American action tripe, I’ll bet,” Harry said in a ribbing tone, even as the waiter reappeared and presented their orders before them.

Gary looked aghast, face scrunching up in distaste. “ _Please,_ those movies are utter trash half the time. They don’t even get any o’ the details of fighting down right, I mean, ya can’t fight like that an’ shoot bullets that way, it don’t make sense.”

“ ‘sides, I much prefer spy movies meself.”

“Ah, spy movies, nowadays they’re all a little serious for my taste,” Harry remarked as he deftly cut into his chicken, knife slicing neatly through the pale flesh. “Give me a far-fetched theatrical plot any day.”

Gary made a small chuckle at that. “Like the old bond movies, I bet.”

“Gentlemen spy. All decked out in a dapper suit, a dashing pair of glasses and an umbrella dangling off one arm. I’d actually quite like to imagine myself being one,” Harry said grandly, then laughed and shook his head at himself. The ludicrousness of the idea was striking him now; he had never told anyone else that, the silly little idea that he held close to his heart. It had been just a foolish, self-indulgent notion he thought of from time to time, when the weight of the lost memories became too great to bear. All things considered though, it made a remarkable amount of sense for his present situation. Then again, he was just being silly.

How could someone like him secretly be a spy? Life didn’t work like that.

“Imagine that. An old man like myself, what am I saying? I’m just a simple tailor.”

He continued tucking into his meal, almost not catching Gary’s first few words when the other spoke up suddenly, quietly, after a beat.

“That’s not true. I think you’d make a great spy. I know you’ll make a real difference.”

* * *

Somehow, the hours had slipped away to usher in the setting sun and the hotel Gary was staying in was just a little ways off the town centre, across the long, quieter North Beach and up the hill that ran around it.

Gary had protested, but Harry had insisted, and so there they were, standing in the hotel lobby and ignoring the looks the receptionist, a young lady that Harry unfortunately knew personally, was throwing them. 

"Thanks for today, I guess," Gary shot him a smile, twirling the room key in his fingers.

"It was my pleasure."

The other had already started towards the stairs that led up to the guest rooms but paused upon seeing Harry continuing to linger there, looking over the young man, sorting through his thoughts.

 "Somethin' on your mind?"

"It's just the darnest thing..."Harry shook his head, then shrugged a little and looked up at the other, lingering over the dark hazel eyes. "Sometimes, I can't help but think that I knew you before. I know it's not possible but...I think that would have been very nice. I would have liked that very much."

Those eyes widened almost imperceptibly, then a small forlorn smile dashed across his lips. "Thank you, Harry...Goodnight."

"Goodnight."

"Good evening Mr Hart," Carol grinned playfully, nodding over to the stairs where Gary had disappeared up just moments before. "It's the first time I've seen you doing something like this."

"Carol, _please._.." Harry groaned, knowing that he would hear no end of it from her now. Sometimes it was rather annoying how small the town was, for anyone's business was everyone's business. It had never bothered him before but now... Then his eyes happen to catch sight of a certain red device along the wall. "Say, have you made arrangements to check the fire alarm yet? Surely it's constant ringing must irritate guests?"

“The fire alarm’s busted, it’s not been working for several weeks now. It can’t even ring! I’ve been meaning to replace it for ages.” The look of confusion on Carol’s face was too genuine to be a dud. Harry just nodded, confused, at the young lady, then left her to her work, frowning at the little red bell hanging over an oddly elaborate picture of a panda as he walked slowly out.

Some things are too strange and strong to be coincidences.

* * *

The door closed with a click and he slumped against the door, face pressed against the cool varnish and just breathed slowly into the wood despite the chemical taste of it all. His knees gave out slowly under him and he slid down to the floor, fingers curling into the strands of the carpet tightly.

He should not have agreed to Harry’s request at the church but the weeks had been so peaceful, and the day so lovely and Harry had _asked._

How could he have argued with that?

Eggsy let out a long, weary sigh and leaned his head back against the door, staring off into the inky darkness of the dimly lit room. Then he noticed the long black box on the bed.

Eggsy immediately got to his feet and started towards warily - it had not been there this morning. The box was completely black on all sides, plain, with no marker of any sort to shed light on its source. Yet, it was this smooth blankness that instead accounted for its presence.

He opened the cover to reveal the neatly arranged insides, enveloped in velvet. His fingers glided over the various items in the box, pausing over the black fabric of the umbrella for a moment, right where a golden K would have been, before moving on to take the gun. Gripping it solidly in his dominant hand, Eggsy easily reached for the magazine cartridge and loaded it into the pistol, releasing the rack into place with a loud snap.

The gun lay in his palm, perfectly still and steady.

He looked about for the clock, eyes landing on the face of it just in time to watch the minute hand strike twelve. Right on cue, the phone’s screen on the table to his side blinked to life.

He reached for it and stared at the three lines that had not changed, and the single new addition beneath them:

 

 

**_Mission Brief_ **

_Assessment and Recovery of reserve operative Harry Hart_

_Assigned Mission Operative: Galahad_

 

_In the event of inevitable and imminent failure, target is to be immediately **terminated.**_

 

 

 

* * *

  

 

 

 


	6. King and Lionheart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary:
> 
> Does the King do what he wants, or does he do what the people expect him to do?
> 
> They talk about loyalty, bravery, honour and laying one’s life down for their country...but in the larger game of chess, the soldier is but the pawn. And the pawn will always be sacrificed to save the King.
> 
> This is a final farewell in the twilight of our goodbye.  
> 

**“I am speaking to you from the Cabinet Room at 10, Downing Street.”**

**“This morning the British Ambassador in Berlin handed the German Government a final note stating that unless we heard from them by 11 o’clock that they were prepared at once to withdraw their troops from Poland, a state of war would exist between us.”**

**“I have to tell you that no such undertaking has been received, and that consequently this country is at war with Germany.”**

The radio transmission cuts short, leaving nothing but empty static crackling into the dark expanse of the room.

“You shouldn’t be drinking.”

The glass suddenly feels like ice on his lips. His grip on it tightens into a vice and the amber liquid that sloshes at his lips from where he has paused mid-sip starts to sting. The brandy sparkles a little in the soft, fleeting light as he pulls it away from his lips. He doesn’t need to turn around to know who the voice belongs to.

“My country’s going to war, Eggsy. I think I deserve at least a drink.”

There is only silence after that. Harry brings the glass to his lips again to take another sip, but the brandy just burns now as it goes down his throat, bitter like bile.  

Before him, the cold autumn wind that sneaks through the single open window sends the sheer lace curtains billowing out, casting a misty hue to the fading light streaming through the sliver-like opening between the glass panels.

Beyond it is the garden. It was once lush, Harry thinks. He looks at the spindly branches and jagged thorns and he thinks of the way the sun once touched every delicate rose petal. He looks at the stone fountain, now worn, grey and alone, and thinks of the clear water rushing through its little marble grooves. He looks at the dark dirt, packed into the ground, and thinks of the way the herbs used to push their green leaves through the moist earth, scenting the air with rosemary and oregano and mint.

He looks at the empty, barren garden and thinks of the love that had once bloomed there.

There was once a pair of lovers in the garden, amongst those rose bushes, in a summer of abandon. Now in the half shadows of twilight, the garden is...dead. Too long it has been left untended, and even longer will it be so, as only the ravens will call it home when the trumpets of war call the master of the house away.

He lets his arm fall and sets the glass back down onto the low table, perhaps a little too harshly, for it makes a loud dull thud as it comes into contact with the mahogany surface and some of the brandy sloshes and spills out over the edge. The decanter he sets the glass down by is nearly empty. He’s trying not to curl his fingers into a fist, but it’s hard, and he still doesn’t turn around. He doesn’t think he can.

“I had…” Harry begins - and the other is the only person in whose presence he can speak _fully,_ with a voice free of tremors - but his voice wavers with every syllabus now, barely more than a whisper yet deafening in the silence of the room at the same time. “…to find out through the military recruitment lists.”

All his words only serve to do is elicit a long sigh from the other that hangs heavily in the air between them.

“I’m sorry,” Eggsy says and his voice, so youthful and kind, still soothes at Harry’s rattled state of being even though the words he has said, the actions that he has done _, the choices he has made,_ is the very source of the churning turmoil making him sick to his stomach.

“When are you-” He turns, finally, and registers the dark green uniform before the other’s youthful face and the realisation hits him, sinking into his bones like poison, like weights, like everything that is _bad_ and _horrifying_ in this world, like the looming reality of war, like a love that could never be had in the open, like a lover going to be lost from him. He cringes back from the sight, half-turned heel digging into the wooden floor for support as he recoils from the sight and the accompanying knowledge that Eggsy will become just another one of those faces passing by, in just another one of those uniforms, just another soldier sent off to war.

They talk about loyalty, bravery, honour and laying one’s life down for their country, but in the larger game of chess, the soldier is but the pawn. And the pawn will always be sacrificed to save the King.

 “I leave tomorrow,” Eggsy says quietly and shuffles a little, his boots clicking as he does so. There is a hint of regret in his expression, a slight touch of sorrow on his sheepish face. His gaze is upon for the floor for a long moment while Harry stares at him in silence, but then he slowly raises his head to meet Harry’s eyes, tentatively, hesitantly.  Beneath the long lashes, his eyes are still that beautiful melting hazel and green that Harry remembers _shining_ for him – they still do, are so bright and lively, despite the subdued tone at their edges.

Harry’s breath catches in his throat at the sight, but then it turns to lead when he notes how the uniform’s hat casts a shadow across Eggsy’s face. He can’t bring himself to look at Eggsy, at the determined look in his eyes and the grim set to his jaw, his stubborn boy born with a heart of gold, this beautiful boy that he had somehow, impossibly, fallen in love with… He tears his gaze away and strides over to the bed, clutching at the post for support.

“I s’ppose I should’ve added ‘Your Majesty’ to that eh…” Eggsy chuckles softly, fingers flitting over his uniform nervously, playing with the pockets and lapels. He is smiling but it’s a nervous one that falters slightly at the edges,

““I was never meant to be the King, Eggsy. I’m not a King, I’m just a naval officer.”

There is a slight surreal tinge to his vision and his mind feels woollen and damp. Harry wonders if it might be the alcohol taking it’s toll on him, or the recent events, or the cruel situation of it all. He looks across the room at the low table where the last of the brandy remains and wishes to pick up the glass once again, wondering if those last few drops will be the ones to tip him over into oblivion. He can’t help but laugh now.

 “ _Hell_ , I wasn’t even that good an officer. I’m not a _King_.”

“You were always my King,”

Hearing those words embraced in the warmth of that voice could _break_ him.

 _“Don’t.”_ Harry all but _yells_ , an almost shout cut abruptly short by the roiling emotions coursing through him. That single word cuts through his composed demeanour and crushes the last fragments of self-control Harry has been clutching so tightly to himself. His exhaustion steals the energy behind that word and it comes out as a single, defeated whisper.

He whips around, walks over to the bed in two sharp strides and clutches at the post for support, seizing it so tightly the entire frame shudders.

_Please. I beg of you. I beseech, implore, appeal, plead, pray…_

Those words that should follow and they hang in the air between them like a phantom that Harry does not have the strength to voice, then fall one by one to shatter into pieces by their feet. 

He’s tired.

He’s too tired that he is not sure what to feel anymore. Betrayal, perhaps, sorrow, reluctance, resignation? Or even cold, blinding anger. He looks down to his feet and his eyes run down each line of the wood’s grain, wondering if the floor could just give way to let him sink down into the ground, because the weight of it all is crushing him and he is slowly crumbling into dust.

_“War with Germany will come and we need a King we can all stand behind, united.”_

_“But…I cannot be that King.”_

**_“You must.”_ **

It’s just two words, but they sit low and heavy around his shoulders, like the strange mantles and epaulettes decorating his sleeves and the medals that line up just above his breast pocket. The uniform feels alien on his skin although it had been tailored for him, but the golden cords and tassels feel like overwrought weights.  It is far heavier than all of the suits and uniforms that he has ever wore.

His brother had renounced the throne this morning.

Harry is now King.

King of a nation going to war.

He lets go of the bedpost and watch the wood shavings and dust fall from his hand, the palm of which bears angry red marks now from the unforgiving splinters and jagged wooden groves.

“Don’t-” Harry speaks up again finally, because the silence is becoming too heavy to bear and he doesn’t think he can carry that burden too. Once, he thinks over fondly, sadly, the silences between the two of them were pleasant like a light silken blanket, or the perfect spring day - the sort of silence one felt comfortable and safe in, the sort that came to be because no words needed to be said between the two of them. This isn’t that sort of silence. It’s choking and it tears at Harry’s throat, steals the very air from his lungs and presses down so hard on his chest that he thinks he might just stop breathing.

He’s drowning in it.

“Don’t say that. You are the one person I don’t want to hear that from.”

Eggsy opens his mouth to respond, then falters and falls silent again, bowing his head again as he does so. His eyes flicker close for a long moment and when he reopens them to regard Harry again, they are glistening in their corners. His lip quivers slightly and it’s obvious that he is trying so hard to maintain his composure, but the way his throat trembles as he swallows and swallows again belay the fear beneath the forced confidence.

They’re both drowning.

_“But-”_

“But _what_? What can a King _do_? I’m the King, but where’s my power? Can I...can I form a government? Can I levy a tax? Declare a war? **_Not_** declare a war?

 “I made my choice, Harry, this isn’t your-” Eggsy pleads and steps forward but Harry throws a hand up to stop him.“Harry, _please…_ ”  
  
“What good is it to be a King if I can’t even be with the one I love? What good is it to be a King if I have to send the one I love away to _his death_?”

 “I’ll come back, Harry, I will-”

“Can you promise me that?”

Eggsy’s silence is a reply in itself.

The question isn’t fair of him, Harry knows, but he can’t help it.

“You already know that I had made up my mind about this,” Eggsy says quietly, looking slowly away and biting his lower lip as he does so. His hands are balled into fists by his side, fingers twisting the dark fabric of his uniform. “I would always have made this choice. I would always have tried to follow in my father’s footsteps.”

The last sentence is like a knife in Harry’s side.

 “Your father...Lee...he _died_ , Eggsy,”

“But it was for a worthy cause, wasn’t it?”

“Are you telling me you are going to lay down your life for me too?”

“Harry, I would sacrifice more than my life to protect the times that we had.”

_“Stop.”_

Their choices were laid out for them from the very start. Perhaps the only cruelty of it all was that fleeting summer that had brought them together.

 “What’s the point of fighting about this now?” Harry voices out loud into the air, wondering if it is for his benefit, or a reply to the other. Either way, his tone is so defeated, it’s as if he’s lost the war before he’s even begun it.

And perhaps he has.  
  
“I’m sorry.” Eggsy’s voice is low and then crosses the space between them with two broad strides and takes Harry’s hand in his warm ones. Harry looks at their clasped hands, then turns Eggsy’s hand over to run his fingers over each line slowly, tracing every one from the start to the end, marking it both on his palm and in his mind.

“I know.” Harry pulls Eggsy closer and lets his other hand trail down the side of his face, knuckles sweeping over the familiar contours with tender care, etching them slowly into his mind. Eggsy smiles a little at that and turns a little into the contact, sighing and the warmth of his breath dances across Harry’s skin and he makes a little note of the way that feels in his mind too. They remain like that, lingering in each other’s presence, the barest touch of their skin on each other, basking in the warmth that tiny contact conveys,

“It’s not your fault,” Eggsy murmurs after a while and gently wraps Harry’s hand by his temple with his own, turning into it to press soft kisses to his wrist.

“It’s not yours either,” is all Harry replies as he brings up his other hand to cup Eggsy’s jaw and draw his chin gently up. He just rakes his eyes over his face slowly, carefully, committing every detail of it to memory, from the slight droop to Eggsy’s eyes, to the round curve of his jaw, his slightly crooked nose…

“Can I have at least a kiss?” Eggsy whispers, one corner of his mouth quirked up into a grin.

“You may,” Harry replies, one eyebrow arched now and he can’t help the small smile growing at the edges of his lips. Eggsy smiles back brilliantly, moves to rest his hands on Harry’s side and rocks forward on his toes to press his lips to his.

It’s not a long, heated kiss. It’s simple…bittersweet. But it’s no less impassioned, no less desperate, despite its seeming chasteness. The taste of Eggsy’s lips, slightly rough in place and chapped around the edges, is sweet on his own and lingers on the tip of his tongue as they draw apart with sighs.

 “Always wanted to kiss a King,” Eggsy says, then he sniffs a bit and pretends to put on airs. “Wasn’t as spectacular as I’d thought it’d be, to be honest.”

 “You cheeky bastard.”

Eggsy beams at him, bouncing a little on the balls of his feet, eyes twinkling with a mischievous light. Then his expression turns a little wistful and he reaches out for Harry’s hands.

“I’ll be hearing you through the broadcasts, won’t I?”

“Perhaps,” Harry remarks, finally pulling reluctantly away from the other at that, but he doesn’t let go of their clasped palms. “They asked if I could do a broadcast just two days ago, I took one look at the microphone and the words, they just...I just _can’t_ do it.”

“The King is the seat of all authority because the nation believes that when I speak, I speak for them…but I _can’t speak_ …as a nation, for the nation.”

“Harry, you can do this, I _know_ you can. For the country, for your people… _if anything_ , for me,” Eggsy says, gripping his upper arms tightly in a resassuring manner.

Harry just stares back at his young lover. “You mean _everything_ , Eggsy.” 

Eggsy's entire face lifts at that, and he smiles so prettily back and for a long moment, their gazes remain interlocked and they are still - still with each other. Then Harry's eyes catches sight of the time on the watch on his wrist. “ _Shit_ …I have to go.”

Or fuck that, actually. He’s the King now, isn’t he? He can be a little bit late for his own swearing in… or rather, the King is never late, everyone else is simply early.  
  
He looks back at Eggsy, painting one final potrait of him to cherish at the back of his mind and then lifts their clasped hands up to his lips.

“Be safe, my Lionheart. And come back to me.”

* * *


	7. The Best Laid Plans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary:
> 
> In which Roxy Morton grows up to take over the world and Hartwin happens along the way.  
> It all begins with one simple line:"I think I might be falling in love with someone over the internet."
> 
> Or: Eggsy is only 21 when his mother and stepfather pass away in a car accident, leaving him alone with a ten year old Daisy. Suffice to say, bringing up a teenager singlehanded is hard, but he’s managed to work things out for the past four years juggling work and studies, even becoming somewhat well-known on Kingsman, the online community for single fathers in London.
> 
> Harry Hart has recently become the guardian of his niece, Roxy, ever since her mother passed away. He loved his sister, bless her heart, but for all that she was fearlessly brilliant and stubbornly headstrong, Roxy seems to have inherited all those traits in folds. He’s at his wits end, has no clue how to relate to the teenager at all and everything he does just seems to make things worse. 
> 
> Thankfully, there’s the internet. Thankfully, there’s Kingsman.  
> 

  
**Chapter 1**

* * *

  **WELCOME TO KINGSMAN**

_an online community for single fathers in London_

Dedicated to the modern knights of today’s world. For there is no loftier and more worthy a task for the men of today than raising up the next generation to achieve the fullness of their potential.

* * *

 KINGSMAN POST OF THE DAY:

**Days with Dee - A Follow Up of Sorts**

_by eggsovereasy_   **15/3/15 11.32pm**

**So after I posted that first post about specially setting aside time to hang out with Dee regularly to get to know what’s going on in her life, I got loads of comments and messages ‘bout people having trouble even finding a chance to hang out with their teenage children.**

**Y’know, I’m not exactly the greatest example, ‘cause Dee and I, we ain’t really got the same age and generational difference like most of you have. But I understand many of your difficulties, cuz it’s already darn hard for me to understand Dee sometimes. Man, I don’t even get some of the words teens use nowadays! And I’ve only not been a teen since less than half a decade ago! I think what’s important is to try your best and listen. Listening is hella important. You gotta make time too - time to listen to them, don’t fill up your time with work or projects, I mean it’s important, but you have to be there for them too. Don’t you remember when you were a teen? They may not say it, or may deny it with all their might, but they want you around too. I sure as hell wish my mom had been there when I was a teen but…I don’t blame her though, she had things hard. But I’ll do better for Dee.**

**Before I first started this regular dinner thing with Dee, we never really talked much about our days. Part of it was my fault I suppose, ‘cause I was so wrapped up with work and school and trying to pay the bills an’ all. When it first started, it was weird and all too because I never knew what to say and she didn’t want to say much either because she’s the quiet, private sort. I tried everything I could think of, gosh, even making loads of dumb mistakes (hey, how was I supposed to know One Direction was a boy band; it sounds like the name of a bloody GPS.) Thankfully, we managed to find this awesome movie ‘bout spies and saving the world and all, a real ridiculous campy show like those classic Bond stuff, but point was, we both happened to love it.  So we started talking from there and now we’re both real comfortable with launching into any topic at the dinner table.**

**Be persistent yeah? It’ll pay off.**

**Side note, it’s gonna be Dee’s birthday real soon! I’m hella excited but so far I’ve got no clue what to do this year! Anyone got any suggestions?**

**Eggsy**

**Comments (52):**

**_31\. galahad:_** I think that is a brilliant idea. Having a regular time to bond does sound like a good platform to get to know them more. I hope to try this out too with my own step-daughter and hope it will work out in the end. Also, I am sure that you will come up with a delightful celebration for Dee. She is very lucky to have a big brother like you. Pardon me, but I was wondering if you could say more on…. _(click to expand)_

* * *

If Harry Hart had checked his private message inbox on Kingsman, the popular forum for single fathers in London, at exactly 1.43pm on this very lovely Wednesday afternoon, he would have received a certain message and be very pleasantly surprised to have done so.

But  **no.**

Instead, at exactly 1.43pm, his secretary popped his head into his office to unceremoniously announce that the school had called his office number citing an emergency,  _again._

It had been a short (but really too damn long) span of a year, but Harry now knew better than to hope that it was truly an accident when Roxanne’s school calls him on a work afternoon to inform him that there had been explosion at the school’s science lab during his niece’s chemistry class.

The aforementioned teenager was, at this very moment, fuming beside him in the passenger seat of his black Audi. Her arms were crossed and face set in a deep frown, trying to radiate her clear displeasure with all the force of her teenage will and ability. There was still a slight smell of smoke in the air. Harry pulled up at a red light, then glanced to his side, before groaning and crushing the impulse to bang his forehead against the steering wheel.

 _“Roxanne…”_  He started, internally cringing at how it came out almost as a  _whine._ That was not him. He was Harry Hart, for crying out loud, senior partner at King & Grant one of the finest law firms in London and more. He made even the dourest, sourest, stodgiest old men cringe in their steps...and here he was, brought down by a teenager. Admittedly a very brilliant one (and terrifyingly so, actually), but the point remained.

“ _Roxy_ ,” Roxy growled, then snapped her head to the left to stare out of the window, whip-like ponytail almost slapping Harry’s face if he had not jerked back his head in time, an instinctive reaction long honed through much painful,  _painful_  experience. “And  _besides_ , it wasn’t even a real explosion, just a lot of heat and harmless gas, that was all. They couldn’t even blame me, because Toby Michaels was the one who didn’t believe  _me_  when I told him adding potassium was a bad idea. It’s not my problem.”

“Do you really expect me to believe that, Roxy,” Harry said sternly, questioning for the thousandth time why Parenting 101 had not been taught at Oxford. Probably because it was too tough a subject for even the most wizened and experience of professors. The green man flickered, then changed to red and he revved up the engine again.

“He was being a  _prick_.”

“ _Language_.”

Perhaps that had not been the best thing to say, because Roxy whirled back around, eyes positively blazing with the righteous fury of a wronged teenager. “Why do I have to mind my words when there are boys out there spouting chauvinistic crap, humiliating innocent young girls for it and getting away with it? Getting a faceful of a smoke and singed fingers is  _far_  from what he deserves.”

 _Touché._  The whole situation was entirely touché and horribly unfair for him in that light.Roxy would grow up to be a force to reckon with, Harry mused. What a marvel of nature his niece was, that millions of years of evolution had fallen into place to produce the forces that would come together to produce one Roxy Morton who seemed destined to take over the world.

And the world wouldn’t know what hit it.

He sighed.

“And what about Nathan Richards from your kickboxing class?”

The girl just rolled her eyes and scoffed.

“Well, if he was going to look down on an opponent that clearly outranked him like that in an actual fight just because ‘ _it’s a girl’_ , I’d say a broken rib would be him getting off lightly,” Roxy finished, her voice lilting off delicately at the end of her statement, sounding very pleased with herself indeed. Harry certainly didn’t doubt that.

Thankfully, the driveway of his house loomed ahead and he pulled into it, rounding the bend maybe just a little too quickly. The golden oak of his door had never looked this welcoming before. Hell, even the flowers over the balcony looked like they were swaying in welcome and he had always hated those sodding hydrangeas. He parked the car, shut off the engine and looked over at his young charge.

“Roxy, I am serious. This cannot continue on. If you don’t behave better at school, I’ll have to cancel your horse-riding camp over the break.”

The girl’s jaw dropped. “Uncle Harry, you cannot be _serious_.”

“Don’t test your limits, young lady.”

“That’s not fair! You can’t do that to me!” Roxy exclaimed, then narrows her eyes at him.“ _Fine,_  but I’m not apologising.”

Harry watched her storm into the house and slam the front door after her, before groaning and leaning forward to cradle his head in his hands.  _Teenagers._ Every time he went through something like this with Roxy, he could have sworn years of his life were shorn off and he would cart about a massive killer headache for the rest of the day.

Groaning, he reached for his phone to call his secretary to inform him that he would probably be late for his 3 o’clock appointment when he noticed the little notification over the little black icon, embossed with a golden K, on his screen. He frowned at the app for a moment, because the Kingsman app did not usually pop up with notifications just for forum replies, and he had only made an account there a week ago, so hardly anyone should be messaging him. It was probably just a staff message, Harry thought to himself as he tapped on the app, then nearly dropped his phone in surprise.

**_(K) New Message received from: eggsovereasy_ **

Oh no, it wasn’t anything big or important at all, just that one of the most popular members in Kingsman, a young man who had charmed everyone with his compelling tale of his endeavours to bring up his baby sister, had messaged  _him._

Distantly, Harry noted that he was sounding more and more like love-struck adolescent, but he would be lying to everyone and himself if he claimed that the other, whose cheerful demeanour shone through every beautifully written, down to earth blog entry in which he documented every little snapshot of his life with his young sister, did not have Harry spellbound the moment he had read the first one. He may or may not have been the reason why Harry had created a Kingsman account in the first place, after Merlin (why his secretary insisted on being called that, Harry would  _never_  understand) had first sent him the link to the forum and Eggsy’s promoted article had been on the homepage. Holding his breath, he hovered over the phone screen for a long moment, then pressed down on the message.

 **(K) To: galahad  
** **From: eggsovereasy**

_Hey galahad! So, uh, it’s like this: I notice you’ve been posting a lot of questions and stuff in the comments of my articles and in the forums so…I was wonderin’ about the trouble you seem to be having with your daughter? Not that it’s my place to ask, I mean, but if you’d like to share or something, I’m willing to listen? I know it’s a ton of trouble trying to bring up a teenager now, and my circumstances ain’t the same as yours, but I’d sure like to help if I can._

* * *

Merlin, who shalt not be referred to by his birth-name nor by the horribly mundane title of ‘secretary’ this organisation had sought to bestow upon him, believed himself to be the credit for all of Harry Hart’s happiness in life, no matter what the other said. Things would soon transpire to prove him completely and utterly right - but  _of course,_ as if he had ever been in doubt about that. How very ridiculous.

“Look, I just need to ask Mr. Hart ab-”

Merlin sighed and set down the pen he had been twirling about in his fingers, but his gaze remained on his beautiful HD widescreen computer where he was simultaneously comparing the reviews for the two new bistros that had opened a street over, reshuffling Harry’s afternoon meetings for the week and conducting very stealthy reconnaissance via social media about the going-ons at their rival firms. Pearson Specter was apparently a smoking hot mess right now.

“ _Harry_ ”, Merlin begun in a flat tone, not even bothering to look up at the other. “Is not in.”

“Look, I just needed to ask Harry about some of the paperwork for the Valentin-”

New recruits could be such annoyances. What was this one’s name again? Cha...Charles or Charlie or something like that. Probably graduated from Oxford or Cambridge thinking the world of his shiny new law degree and expecting everyone else to gaze at him with awe and bow before his shiny  _brogue_ shoes.

“Harry is the senior partner of this firm and has no time to be dealing with basic issues such as these.” Merlin said curtly, pondering the merits of a baked peach almond clafouti versus a lovely framboise strawberry tart. He took his desserts very seriously. Every man had their vice. This was his.  

“You’re just the secretary. What do you know abou-”

At this, Merlin finally looked up at the other, one eyebrow raised with a perfectly unimpressed look on his face.

“ _Enough_  to know that it is such a basic issue that even I, who has been working here for far longer than you have and am ranked much higher than you on the firing list, lowly new associate, know that the guide for can be found in the second top row shelf of the stacks.”

Charlie froze, face slowly turning red, beginning with his ears. He nodded like a chastised puppy and turned to slink away, but then he just had to mutter under his breath, “Ugh fine, you got a fucking problem with me or something?!”

And  _now_ he had crossed the line.

“Woah  _woah,_ ” Merlin said severely, standing up from his chair now. “You don’t talk to me like that. You have a complaint, you come over here and whisper it in my ear.”

Arthur’s secretary was snorting from the other side of the corridor, no doubt finding the repeat of the same old show every year immensely entertaining. Charlie looked positively flustered now and he shuffled on his feet for a second, before taking a few hesitant steps forward.

“You need to take that chip off your shoulder,” Merlin said monotonously, before slapping the relevant files that he had already picked out into the man’s hands. "Now run along and get us the tea order for the day."

Charlie’s eyes went comically big as he took in the papers in his hands, then he nodded hastily and scuttled away, head down and tail tucked.

“Another recruit trying to act too big for his britches, Merlin?” Percival stated as he strode over from where he had been watching the scene from the side to lean on the low wall of Merlin’s cubicle. He made an appreciative noise at Merlin’s computer, because if anyone shared the same ardent passion for all that was technology that Merlin possessed, it was Percival.

“Unfortunately,” Merlin said dryly, then shook his head at the associate’s retreating form, before settling back into his seat. “What are you doing out of IT?”

Percival shuddered and pulled a face. “James called tech support for his computer  _again_. I swear, I have no clue how that man manages to wreck his computers like he does. This has been the fifth time in two weeks.  _Two. Weeks._  It’s almost as if he’s this trigger happy maniac going suicidal on the keyboard and mouse. God save me if we ever change the desktops to touchscreens, I’ll be repairing screens every _day._ ”

Right on cue, a certain voice, too cheerful to belong in a law firm mid-week, rang out into the hallway.

“Perc? Yo Perc, where are you?  _Peeerrcc,_  come back, I need your help- Oh there you are! Hey Perc! Sorry to bother you again, yeah, but I think something went wrong again. I mean I tried-”

Percival rolled his eyes to the ceiling and gave an exaggerated long suffering sigh again.

“I wonder everyday how this company runs without us,” He muttered, throwing his arms up in the air a little and then stalked off in the direction of the man calling out for him. Merlin nodded silently in agreement because the company was a goddamn mess, _literally,_  all because a certain Operations Manager just refused to step up on finding the new cleaner. If Merlin had to confront Lawrence _one more time_  about that issue...

He sighed and watched Percival go, wondering to himself when the other would catch on that James was pretty much only going through his computers like well _, bullets,_  only to have an excuse to call him up from Tech all the time, then shrugged and return back to his tasks.

* * *

Harry rolled to a stop at the traffic light just before his office and frowned at the phone in front of him yet again. He had been staring at the damn message for almost the entire journey and yet still couldn’t think of anything to say in reply. What did one say in reply to such a message from such a person?

What did one reply to a message from someone over the internet?

He had attempted a reply two or three times, but had never got past the first sentence. Eggsy’s message had been simple and yet friendly, like the tone he never failed to convey in all his posts. Everything Harry tried just felt too stilted and formal.

Harry sighed and leaned back on the seat, letting his gaze wander a bit. There was a strange small gathering of mostly women on the street next to him in the front window of what seemed to be a pet shop or something. Over their heads and through the glass front, he could just make out a man's figure standing there.  
  
It was probably nothing.

Picking his phone back up, he pursed his lips and furrowed his brows before finally tapping one letter in. He could do this, he-

A loud honk blared out behind him. He jerked up and the phone went flying from his fingers across the passenger’s seat.

“Bugger,” Harry cursed, fumbling for his phone and then realised that the light had turned green while he had been engrossed in sending his message. He grabbed the steering wheel and floored the accelerator once again even as the car behind honked again impatiently.

He drew into the carpark of the office building a little too fast and then snatched up the phone again before even taking off his seatbelt.

 **(K) To: eggsovereasy  
** **From: galahad**

_ALHSDjkldjaslkdasdddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddd...._

Harry just  _stared_  at the offending message sitting in his Sent box.

_“...Shit.”_

* * *

  
Some distance away, one Eggsy Unwin, at that very moment, was currently inundated with baby pugs. It was probably quite a sight, given how there was almost a crowd forming outside the display window...

* * *

 

**Chapter 2**

There had been nothing but kale chips and a single apple when she had opened the refrigerator.

The rest of the kitchen cupboards had either been empty or filled with a suspiciously abundant amount of Nutella and vermouth.

Roxy just stared at the refrigerator for a long while, then sighed and decided to pop down to the nearby Asda for a short grocery run. It would be good to get some air instead of being coped around in the empty house all day anyway. Sometimes she had no idea how exactly her uncle actually lived on his own. Then again, it wasn’t as if he returned to his house much. He was gone pretty much every other day and that was _after_ she had learnt that he was actually returning home more now because she had moved in.

She was cutting through the backalleys behind some shops when she heard the cry.

 “ _Oy!_ Won’t you just leave ‘em alone!”

It was a girl’s voice, high-pitched and distressed.  
  
“What if we said no? Huh? What’re you gonna do ‘bout it, little _girl._ ”

Roxy immediately stopped and frowned, looking around to try and place the sound. The commotion seemed to be coming round the corner. She hesitated for a second, then slipped her hand into her blazer pocket to grab her phone, just in case.

She slowly approached the commotion only to see two teenage boys in baggy t-shirts and loose ripped jeans giving each other high fives.

“Did you see that? I nearly hit that one!” The taller one whooped, punching a hand into the air.

“Fuck yeah mate! “ The other one grinned and dropped down to pick up another rock from the floor. He skipped two steps back and raised his hand to throw it. It was only then that Roxy caught sight of the small, shivering bundle of dirty fur on the fire escape stairs.

“Stop it! They’re just _puppies,_ ” A small blonde girl, who must’ve been the one who had cried out earlier, rushed at the boy. She threw herself into his side, ruining his aim and making the rock fall short. It hit the metal rung of the stairs instead. The puppies whined and the boy made a frustrated noise before pushing her roughly to the ground. “Go away you fucking bitc-“ He yelled out and raised a hand. Roxy’s eyes went wide and she immediately dashed forward.

 _“Hey,_ leave her alone!”

“Ohh some gal pretending to have balls now, are ya-“ The taller one started, squaring his shoulders and tilting his chin up smugly.

Roxy just punched him right in the face.

“Ow,” He yelped and staggered back, clutching at his nose. “What the fuck bitch _shite_ I’m bleedi-“

She jumped back, slipping into a fighting stance instinctively.

“If you don’t fucking _go,_ I’ll do worse than that-“

“Watch out!” Roxy heard the other girl shriek and she spun around only to see the other boy attempting to grab her from behind. She ducked and slid back, dodging his arm easily. Then she grabbed his hand and whirled around so fast that she had twisted his arm around his back and forced him to his knees. She planted a knee firmly on his back and yanked on his twisted arm for good measure.

“Want to go for round two?” Roxy flashed a smile with too much teeth and then pushed him away. The boy stumbled to his feet and grabbed his friend, swearing all the way.

“… _Fuck_ let’s go.”

Roxy glared at them as they left, then remembered the other girl and dashed over to her. She stuck out a hand. “Are you okay?”

“Thanks so much,” The blonde girl replied, taking her hand and letting Roxy pull her up. The instant she got to her feet, however, she immediately shot over to the stairs.

“Shit, I’m so sorry dears, I’m comin’ to get ya now.”

Roxy stared at her as if she had gone crazy. The stairs didn’t extend to the ground and they were at least a storey and a half up. “How are you going to get at th-“

To her complete amazement, the girl took a step back and promptly charged at the wall, shooting up it like a bird to grab onto the very edge of the landing. She swung herself back and kicked off the wall, flipping up through the air to land solidly on her two feet onto the metal stair landing.

She gently gathered the two puppies up and then, before Roxy could even say a word, leaped off the stairs and landed lightly on her feet.

Her jaw dropped. “How did you _do_ that?”

“This?” The girl started, the smile on her face also lighting up her startling blue eyes, then one of the puppies gave a low whimper and she immediately returned her attention to then. She clutched them protectively, alternating between gently stroking their fur and whispering softly to them to calm them down.

“Sorry. And it was nothing, really.”

“ _Nothing?_ That was amazing.”

“I do- ah _shit_ , uh…I _did_ gymnastics, you see. And my brother taught me a bit of parkour so I know a bit of how to scale walls and stuff. He’s the one who’s real good at this stuff.”

“And… _really?_ ” The girl nodded her head to the uniform Roxy hadn’t bothered to change out of. “You go to that fancy public school and you think that’s cool? I’m from the state school just two streets over and most of your school’s people just seem to walk right by us like we don’t exist.”

Roxy frowned, slightly affronted by the other’s statement although she couldn’t deny that it was quite true. The general attitude of her fellow schoolmates to students from other schools…well, disdainful was a polite way of putting it. They wouldn’t make it obvious, of course not, but they were all too willing to flaunt the fact that their school was one of the top in the country.

“Well… _I_ think that’s cool…Can you teach me how to do that?”

The girl stared at her, then started nodding slowly. “...if you teach me how you throw a punch like that, hell yeah.”

“Sure.”

“Cool, my name’s Daisy by the way. Like the flower,” Daisy laughed and rolled her eyes a little. “Daisy Unwin, bit ridiculous innit, what a name. Could be worse though. Heard my dad wanted to name me after him. _That_ would’ve been terrible."

“Roxanne Morton, but, call me Roxy,” She lifted up her hand to offer the other girl a handshake, then realised that was probably quite impossible with her arms wrapped up with the puppies. Speaking of the puppies…

“What are you going to do with them?”

“Ah, don’t worry ‘bout it. I know people at a pet shelter nearby…say, do you wanna come?”

* * *

Eggsy Unwin, at that very moment, was currently inundated with baby pugs. He had about five of them cradled in his arms, one in the hood of his jacket (and fuckin’ choking him too), one that managed to somehow balance itself on his head (Eggsy had no idea _how_ ), and the rest were just hanging off him, little claws probably ruining his last good pair of jeans _dammit._ It was probably quite a sight, given how there was almost a crowd forming outside the display window cooing over the scene.

Yeah yeah, the pug pups were cute an’ all but those young women out there wouldn’t be saying that if they had to take care of twelve of these little buggers at once. Sighing, he scooped most of them off him carefully and eased them into the pen, before quickly closing the plastic gate before any of those little devils could escape again.

They didn’t usually get so many puppies here at Pezo’s shelter, but the lot of them had been rescued from an underground puppy farm ring bust. One of them in particular, seemed to be hell bent on causing havoc and chaos for him, like it was some bloody action hero in a movie or something, always leaping off the tables and doing daredevil high speed turns around the corners of the pen. It was the worst one out of the lot of them, but it was also probably the cutest one, as much as Eggsy hated to admit it. They had a very deep and profound hate-love relationship. Eggsy had secretly affectionately dubbed it Jack Bauer Unwin, JB for short.

Brushing his clothes down a bit, he reached over to grab his jacket and sling bag from behind the service counter. “Hey Amelia, I got to go.”

“Not waiting for Daisy?” Amelia replied as she swung herself down from the high chair she had been perched on, trying to sort through the dog food in the top cabinets.

“She’s got gym practice today!”

Amelia frowned. “I remember her saying that she’ll come by though…”

“Maybe you got the date wrong?” Swinging his jacket about him, Eggsy frowned at the small group of people still milling about outside the door of their shelter. “Are those pups really that bloody cute? I thought most people didn’t even like pugs… _wot_?”

The way Amelia was staring at him now was as if she was expecting him to turn into a pug himself any moment now. She had the funniest expression, as if she couldn’t quite decide on which face to settle on.

“Eggsy…” Amelia began slowly. “Are you sure they’re just looking at the puppies?”

Eggsy just stared back, perplexed. “Well ‘course they are! What else would they be lookin’ at?”

Amelia looked at him, then looked at the people outside the store, then looked back at him.

_“Erm.”_

Well, the girl was probably being right silly. This was her A level year anyway - Eggsy wouldn’t put it past her to be not quite right in the mind.  
  
Hell, he remembered all too well what it was like taking his A’s. He had only gone on to take his A’s after the accident, because a year in, he had quickly realised that he wouldn’t be able to provide for Daisy’s future properly with only the shit sort of jobs available to him. Yeah sure they were able to get by, but Eggsy didn’t want Daisy to just get by, he didn’t want money to be a problem for her, not ever. Especially when it looked like she had a promising future as a gymnast too. He didn’t want anything to stand in the way for her. So he had filled in his nights after work cramming calculus and literature and chemistry. It had been tough since he had left for his ill-fated short stint at the Marines immediately after getting his GCSEs done and it had been ages since he had hit _any_ book at all. Sometimes, Eggsy still couldn’t believe that he had even passed his A’s, much less got grades good enough to pursue a part-time diploma at a vocational college.

Dean had always said there was no point in him going on to Sixth Form because it wasn’t as if he would pass his A’s anyway, as if his yelling at him every day had done anything for his grades. He was not sorry the man was gone now, if anything, for Daisy’s sake.

_His mother though…_

Fucking hell, he’d put aside those thoughts away for so long - there hadn’t been time be sad and shit for long when he had his little sister to look after - he wasn’t going to start being all mopey about it now.

Sighing, Eggsy shook the thoughts from his mind, then shivered a little as a breeze picked up. It was strange – it was the middle of summer but even through his jacket, the evening felt a little nippy anyway. He tucked his hands deeper into his pockets and looked up to see the bus already drawing into the bus stop. It was nearly an hour’s bus ride home and it wasn’t the nicest of neighbourhoods, but Eggsy had worked damn hard to get them out of the shitty run-down flats he had grown up in. He didn’t want Daisy to grow up around surrounded by useless louts and people that amounted to no good. Sure, it was still a council estate, but these row of flats were in a relatively nicer part of the city and were a great deal better than their old ones.

Besides, he had to stop by the public library first and it closed at half past five today. He really had to grab at least a book - _any book_ \- on contract law because he had missed all the lectures on it thanks to his work schedule messing up.

Thankfully, he managed to make it before closing time with quite a bit of time to spare. He was about to head straight for the Law section when he walked past the computer terminals and noticed that several were, unusually, unoccupied.

Figuring that a few minutes online couldn’t hurt, Eggsy snagged one of the computers and settled down in front of it, immediately logging into the Kingsman forum to start scanning through the flood of new messages in his inbox. It had become something of a habit. He received a lot of messages every day, ranging from questions to comments left on his blog entries or just thanks for his advice. Honestly, when Eggsy had first made the account and began blogging about his life as an outlet of sorts, he had never expected things to turn out like this. He’d just been this lost, totally clueless young man trying to look for advice to figure things out.

Funny how life turned out sometimes.

He scrolled rapidly through his inbox until his eyes happened to notice a particular reply. It was from the man he had messaged earlier today - he didn’t really message people a lot, usually having his hands full replying the ones that had messaged him, but this particular person’s account seemed to ring true with Eggsy. The feeling of having parenthood thrust onto you and feeling completely out of your depth was one that he identified with too much. He still felt that way most of the time, really.

That and the fact that the other was a new member but had somehow commented on every single one of his blog entries stretching back three and a half years. Now _that_ had been something pretty noticeable.

He opened the message and then just blinked at it.

 _Huh_ , Eggsy thought as he exited it and scrolled further up his inbox. Sure enough, there was another message from the same user sent just a few minutes later. He hadn’t been expecting such a quick or long reply though.

 **(K) To: eggsovereasy**  
**From: galahad**

_Good afternoon, Eggsy. I apologise for the earlier message, it was sent mistakenly. I assure you that I definitely do not converse with people in such an…incoherent manner. I was simply interrupted while drafting the message which resulted in that unfortunate mistake. I must say, I was very much pleasantly surprised to receive your message this afternoon. Thank you very much for it. I have to admit that I have been following many of your posts in the community and I find your story to be very inspiring. I would greatly appreciate any advice you have to offer me on the topic, despite the differing nature of our circumstances._

_Yours Sincerely,  
Galahad_

Eggsy found himself grinning quite in spite of himself because _wow,_ posh much? A “Yours Sincerely” and all. Who even typed so formally anymore? Especially not in a damn online forum. But it was still by far the most courteous message that he had received in a really long time. Hell, no one had talked that nice to him in a real long time. Galahad sounded like a real gentleman. Clicking reply, he began to draft a message back and hardly noticed the time slipping away until a loud bell suddenly chimed.

“Your attention please: the library will be closing in five minutes…”

“Shit,” Eggsy cursed, hastily typing an ending to the message and clicking send. He grabbed his stuff and rushed off in such a hurry that he didn’t notice a couple of books protruding out of one of the shelves and ran straight into them. A small pile came crashing straight to the floor.

He groaned and dropped to his knees to stuff the fallen books back in place. He had already grabbed half of them and stuffed them back onto the shelf when his fingers grazed past the title of one of them. 

_A Young Gymnast_

He froze.

He hadn’t realised this was the sports section. And of all books…

Eggsy took one more look at the book, taking in the figure of the young gymnast soaring through the air on its cover and then quickly shoved it back into its place on the shelf.

He picked himself up and rushed over to the Law section, scanning through the titles and pulling out everything and anything that seemed relevant, before going over to the check-out machines.

It was only after he was out of the building that he allowed himself to pause on the stairs for a moment. He almost turned to look back, but caught himself at the last moment as the small stack of law textbooks that he had grabbed made its weight felt on his arm. He looked at the books he had, then shrugged and shoved them into his bag before carrying on down the stairs, skipping over some.

There was no point dwelling on some things anymore.

* * *

The poodle was dark chocolate brown, reached up to her knees and ridiculously fluffy.

It stared up at her and Roxy stared back.

“ _Ah_ I see you’ve met Winston Charles Pemberton the Fourth.” The other tall, dark-haired girl that Daisy had introduced as Amelia said as she put down some boxes on the counter and then walked over to join them.

“He’s a handsome boy, isn’t he?” She laughed, reaching down to scratch the poodle behind his ears and then looking up to smile at Roxy.

Roxy quickly looked back to the poodle.

“Winston Charles Pemberton the Fourth?” She echoed back, because even for a _poodle_ that was just a bit much, wasn’t it?

“Yeah…the purebred kennels tend to go a bit overboard with their names,” Amelia sighed, kneeling down to pet the dog with a forlorn look on her face. “Not that it’s a good thing for little Pemberton here. He’s too expensive a dog to upkeep for most of the people who come around here looking to adopt. But it’s not like the people who would own these sort of dogs look to adopt anyway…”

“So…what’s going to happen to him?”

“It’s not in my hands. We simply don’t have space to keep so many dogs around…If they can’t be adopted, we usually try to transfer them to a bigger dog shelter somewhere else but, if there is really nothing that can be done…He might have to be put to sleep.”

“ _What?!”_

The poodle gave a small bark at her sudden loud exclamation.

“I know,” Amelia sighed, gently patting the poodle on the head. “And I know I need to get used to the idea especially if I want to go into vet school after my A’s but…”

Roxy stared back down at the poodle.

“I’ll adopt him.”

Amelia’s hand froze over the dog’s head for a second and then she shot up to her feet. “You _what?!”_

“Yes,” Roxy said determinedly. “We have a bond. Besides, I always wanted a pet but never got a chance. I’ll take good care of Winston Charles Pemberton the Fourth that he may have many Fifths and Sixths and Sevenths and Eighths.”

Amelia just blinked dumbly at her but then burst out into a broad grin. “Great! This is perfect! I…oh shit. I can’t do the paperwork for you though, I’m just a student volunteer and Pezo won’t be back till next month…”

“What’s all the excitement about?” Daisy asked as she came in from the backroom. Roxy looked to Amelia but the other just snapped her fingers in an even more puzzled Daisy’s direction and _beamed._

“Of course! Eggsy could do it! And he told me he’ll be coming in next week on Friday again!” Amelia said excitedly, then frowned again as she looked back at Roxy. “You’ll have to get an adult to sign the papers too though…”

“That’s not a problem,” Roxy grinned, already forming the perfect plan to put the suggestion forward to her uncle. Probably over dinner or something. Honestly, Uncle Harry couldn’t quite refuse anyway.

“I’ll bring my uncle. _He’ll_ sign the papers.”

 

* * *

 

  
**Chapter 3**

Eggsy wanted to _shoot_ his alarm clock.

It was a thought was really quite ironic since his alarm tone was supposed to be that of a calm, peaceful lovely morning walk through the forest. Lovely morning walk his _arse_. The sound of birds chirping and water trickling through a forest brook had never been this _stressful._

He rolled out of bed with a groan, sleepily rubbing at his eyes a little. It wasn’t like he was a stranger to little sleep. He had kept odd hours ever since he was a teenager - firstly because well, teenagers had pretty fucked up sleep schedules to begin with and it wasn’t as if Dean stumbling home drunk off his arse at odd hours of the night had allowed him to get much sleep anyway. Now, juggling two jobs on most days and his studies left little time for rest.

Stretching out his stiff limbs a little, he plodded over to the tiny bathroom to prepare for a full day’s worth of work ahead.

The sun wasn’t even out yet but work at the site started early. Eggsy was still the new guy on the team and he really didn’t want to test the construction manager by showing up late on his very first week. Especially not when this was one of the better paying jobs around.

He was stumbling out of the bathroom, arms half shoved up the sleeves of a thin white t-shirt when he heard the sound of the stove go on.

“Dais’? That you? Ain’t it a bit early for you to be up?” He called out, tugging the collar down over his head and snatching up his usual jacket from his bed.

The flat they rented was small and it was easy to smell the fry the delicious aroma of eggs frying and freshly toasted bread drifted over from the kitchen to fill the living room. He popped his head into the small kitchen to see his younger sister at the stove, stirring around some scrambled eggs on a frying pan with a completely focused gaze.

“Dais?”

Daisy jumped, nearly upending the frying pan as she did so but she hastily rightened it, pushing back the eggs from the edge with her spatula.

“I…I just thought I’ll make something more for you than just the slice of bread you usually grab before you go,” She mumbled, poking the eggs around and refusing to look at her brother. “It’s tough working on a construction site, innit? I don’t want you to be tired or hungry or _…”_

She sighed and made a small pout. _“Y’know.”_

Eggsy couldn’t quite stop the smile from growing on his face, then figured that he really didn’t have any reason to hide it anyway. He glanced at the clock on the wall. It was still a bit more till six. Just as Daisy said, he had planned to grab a slice of bread or something and scoff it down while covering the short walk from their flat to the bus stop but...he could wait. He made his way over to the small, slightly wobbly table that doubled up as their dining table and whatever surface they needed it for and sat down.

Daisy quickly came out of the kitchen with two plates of steaming hot scrambled eggs over toast, carefully putting down both plates onto the table before returning to fetch a small flask of tea.

It had been great that it quickly turned out that Daisy had a real talent for cooking, because god knows Eggsy was pretty shit at it. He could make a decent enough meal for the two of them, pasta and canned tomato sauce and the likes, but that was it.

If he were better at cooking, Eggsy frowned, stabbing into his eggs with his fork, he could at least make a nice dinner for Daisy for her upcoming birthday.

It had always been a regret of his. Sure Dais' would always smile and be super and cheerful and all on her birthday but it still smarted that he couldn't even bring her out for a nice meal or get a cake fancier than a slice of chocolate or strawberry shortcake on clearance at Tesco's. It always made him feel like a fucking _failure_ on the inside.

Just one more year.

One more year till he finally gets his diploma and can start to find work in a real company somewhere, _anywhere._ Eggsy honestly didn’t care what it was at all as long as he could finally get a secure, full-time job that let him earn more than the piss poor part timer wages he’s drawing now. Then maybe he could get a much nicer house nearer to Daisy’s school, where they wouldn’t have to commute for half an hour to reach the nearest Tesco and Daisy could stay out later into the night without him having to worry about her walking around the neighbourhood past seven in the evening….

“Eggsy!”

He looked up only to see Daisy’s frowning face right in front of his.  

“It’s too early to be thinking so hard,” She chided and put another slice of toast on his plate before sitting back down. “You need to eat more. I don’t even know if you’re eating well enough outside…”

“Oy, what’s this now? I’m supposed to your big brother here, y’know.”

“What? I can’t worry ‘bout my big brother?” She replied, straightening up in a chair a little and waving her fork a little in the air.  
  
“C’mon I was just teasing.”

“You’ve got gym today, don’t you?” He asked as he shovelled down the rest of his eggs and began to stack the plates together to put them into the sink. Across the table, he could see his sister suddenly freeze up at his question.  

“Uh….” Daisy looked down and poked at her eggs. “Yeah...yeah I do. After school, as usual.”  
  
That was strange, but maybe it was just because it was early and Daisy was tired. No need to think too much into things. It never did him much good before. He reached over the chair and grabbed his bag.

“There’s a meet comin’ up, yeah? Can’t wait to see your routine there. My lil’ sis is gonna be the best gymnast there for sure,” He leaned over as he passed to give Daisy a little peck on her forehead but she just flushed a little and squirmed out of his grasp.

“Y-yeah, the meet. It’s next month….and…and of course I will! Who do you think your little sister is!”

“I never have any doubts,” Eggsy laughed and gave her one final hug before he left the flat.

He closed the door before he could hear Daisy sigh to herself.

_“But that’s the problem.”_

* * *

He was halfway through a triple shot macchiato, coffee machine whistling merrily between his hands and all, when his phone suddenly shot over the marble counter. Eggsy froze for a split second, then lunged forward to grab it before it tipped over the edge. His sleeve ended up catching onto a lever in the process and the machine sent an angry blast of steam straight into his face. Spluttering, he waved the steam from his face and ended up knocking into an open cupboard and backing into a high chair.

“Dammit,” He cursed under his breath, hopping a little to ease the stinging feeling in his heel.

Today was not his lucky day, it seemed.

Still, if this message was from who he thought it was...That would make it better. Slightly better, but still better.

He unlocked his phone with a quick flick of his fingers and settled himself onto the highchair Groaning, Eggsy settled himself onto the high chair and flicked the screen to unlock his phone. He smiled upon seeing the familiar Kingsman symbol on it.

**(K) From galahad:**

_I forgot to mention this before but I have been trying out your dinner idea. The first time I did, Roxanne just looked quite stunned to see me at the dinner table, which made me realise that I have hardly ever eaten a meal with her. I think you’re quite right when you once wrote we don’t realise how little we actually spend time with the ones we care for. I’m afraid my work schedule is quite unforgiving in respects to having regular personal time off. However, I’m trying to see what I can do about it. I still think it is very good advice and seeing how you’ve done it with your sister makes me think it’ll be a great help to improving the relationship between me and my niece. I can only just hope that she doesn’t shut me out the whole time, even if it is to declare something totally out of the blue._

_Please do not worry about the manner in which you reply me or the timeliness of those replies. I understand that you are very busy and would hardly wish to impose. Do feel free to reply me whenever time permits - I look forward to them all the time._

_On a final note, I found your barista anecdote rather amusing. I believe I must have incurred the wrath of my local barista somehow. The tea that I always receive inevitably ends up disappointing me no matter how detailed I go into the proper methods of making it. It’s been a frustration for a while._

_Galahad_

Eggsy blinked at the last statement and leaned back on the cupboards behind him, trying to ignore the strange warm feeling inside him.

It was dumb. It was ridiculous. It was...Eggsy didn’t even know what to call it now.

It had only been a few days since he had first received a reply from the other and their conversation thread already had some twenty six messages shooting between the two of them. He didn't know galahad, didn't know his name or how he looked or what he did...but somehow, their conversation had just take off. And then grew and grew till it fell into an easy, casual, comfortable routine.

Eggsy had even begun to look forward to the other's replies.

He received lots of messages on the Kingsman forum but...in his experience, few conversations carried on to be more than a cursory greeting or two, and this was one of them. He treasured each and every one of them that did so. Eggsy hated to admit it, but he didn’t have much time for meeting new people and making friends and the likes. He wasn’t even in contact with a lot of his old mates, or even his ex-schoolmates - keeping in touch was hard when you’ve got to work your arse off all the time. But online friendships were just different. They were easier to keep up with and sometimes…sometimes Eggsy felt that it was almost easier to be his true self with them. Perhaps it was because they only had one real way of knowing each other and sure, there were all the things about stolen identities and false pretences, but the same anonymity also allowed him to feel freer to say what he truly felt sometimes.

He propped his feet up on the footrest of the chair and began to slowly read through the other’s message again when a young woman came in from the order counter at the front, flipping through a small notebook.

“Huh, the Crazy Gentleman order came agai- _okay_ , this is **_it_**. Out with it, who’re you texting?”

“Sarah!” Eggsy exclaimed and shot out of his seat, but his feet ended up tangling up with the metal bar and he half flipped the chair right over trying to free himself from it. His phone nearly slipped out of his hands in his mad fumbling to regain his balance.

“Wha- I mean, uh, I dunno what you’re talkin’ about….I ain’t texting no-”

“Uh huh,” Sarah said, putting her hands on her hips. Her fluffy chestnut brown ponytail swung wildly from side to side as she shook her head.  “You’ve been like that all afternoon since you came in, jumping up the moment your phone lights up, checking it every few minutes then smiling when you reply…”

She whirled around to stick the little slips of new orders onto the machine and then nudged Eggsy in the side with her shoulder. “It’s _someone_ isn’t it? C’mon, who is it…?”

Eggsy rolled his eyes and pushed her away lightly but she just laughed as she spun away a little. He groaned and ran a hand through his hair, pulling at the strands a little. “It’s not...Didn’t you say an order came in?”

“Yeah but don’t think you’re getting out of this, mister. I’ll be prying those secrets right out of you,” Sarah shot back and spun back around on her heels, to grab a few cups. She passed Eggsy two after scribbling the orders onto the sides with black marker. “Little lawyer boy came over with a long ass company order again. Including the Crazy Gentleman order.”

Eggsy pulled a face. "Oh. That order."

He stuck a cup under the coffee machine and reached down to the cupboards below to grab a small metal tin.

"...You have to admit it's kind of cute.”

“Cute? Who the hell orders - and I quote,” Eggsy placed the tin down, pretended to cough into his fist and then began in an exaggeratedly deep tone, “-Freshly brewed loose leaf Earl Grey steeped for _exactly_ two minutes, with _exactly_ a teaspoon of brown sugar stirred in after the first minute and then _exactly_ two tablespoons of fresh whole milk added after the second…”

“...and then he adds three shots of caramel to it.”

Sarah shrugged, scribbling on the rest of the names and orders onto the cups. “Well...I mean, it’s cute that he hides such a sweet drink as a triple shot Americano order.”

“Cute, yeah sure,” Eggsy rolled his eyes and then dumped a spoonful of sugar into the tea. He scowled at the cup as he stirred the sugar in. “There goes your brown sugar, you posh tosser.”

“Don’t you have to go for classes soon anyway?”

He sloshed the milk in and looked up at the clock. ”Ah yeah, _shit_ , if I don’t leave soon I’ll be late for my first class.”

Sarah passed him the last of the cups, frowning at him as she did so. “Damn. You look tired as hell Eggsy.”

Eggsy shrugged and plucked two orders of tall lattes off from the coffee machine. “It’s nothing. Came from the site that’s al-”

“What?! The site?!...Shit, you went and got that construction job didn’t you?” Sarah grabbed his arm and pulled him around to face her.

“Eggsy! I told you that company isn’t any good! There’s been so many reports about accidents at their sites! I mean, didn’t you hear the news? Some worker from their Battersea site got into a major accident and can’t work anymore. All they want is some compensation but the company’s hired some arse of a lawyer who’s driving his poor family into some horrible lawsuit they can’t afford-”

“It’s just an accident, accidents happen!” He said quickly, then sighed at the unchanging expression on Sarah’s face.

“Besides, I mean...it pays good, Sa, especially because I work it on the mornings and weekends and it’s in the middle of the city and all…”

“I’m fine, I’ll be fine. My tuition’s due soon and I'm short. They keep hiking the _goddamn_ prices up and I got to graduate this semester. _I’ll be fine_. It’s just for a bit anyway.”

Sarah didn’t look convinced but she just shrugged eventually and turned back to packing the coffee cups in the paper holder for the law firm’s associate to bring back.

“...If you need more time to yourself, I can handle the afternoon rush myself, I don’t really need you for these two hours or so-”

“It’s fine, Sa. We’re friends ain’t we? I like helping you! And you can’t afford to hire a proper temp yet, can you?  ‘sides, where else am I gonna get flexibly two hour shifts with the prettiest manager in town?”

He winked and Sarah rolled her eyes.

“You bloody flirt. You best not work yourself too hard though. It’s tiring work being out there in the site, innit? And you’ve still got the nights at Jim’s and volunteering at that dog shelter. Don’t burn yourself out.”

“I’ll be _fine_ ,” Eggsy replied, undoing the ties of the black apron and stuffing it into his bag. He grabbed his backpack and tucked his hat into a side pocket. “My shifts at the site are only half a day anyway. Jim doesn’t need me every night and he’s a real swell boss too. So yeah it’s a pity I can’t go to Pezo’s more but I drop in once or twice a month, that’s good enough for me.”

“And if I can get some money left over on the side at the end of the year, maybe I can finally get Daisy something fancy for Christmas! Maybe a pendant or something. That’ll look nice on her don’t you think?”

"You know, sometimes I really wish my big bro were more like you,” Sarah said wistfully, rubbing at the edge of the counter a little with a rag. “Well, hurry up now! _Go_. Just leave me alone with good lil’  Eggsy Junior over here.”

She patted the coffee machine and grinned. Eggsy paused just before the partition separating the kitchen from the rest of the tiny cafe and threw Sarah a mournful look.

“Gah Sarah, I hate it when you call the damn machine that.”

“Eh, it’s cute!”

“It’s a violent coffee machine that’s what. Blasted hot steam of discontent right into my face just now.”

“Oh now you’re just being melodramatic,” She laughed, packing the final drink into the bag and preparing to take it over to the takeout counter. “Now get going now _, gosh.”_

* * *

The door slammed close after him with a loud crash.

Merlin barely even glanced up from his tablet

“Late again, I see.”

Harry just strode over to his desk and threw the stack of files in his hands onto it forcefully. The papers burst out from them and scattered all over the room.He gripped his tie and ripped it loose from his neck, stripping out of his blazer as he did so, throwing them both over the back of his chair with enough force that it slid back a little.

“Jerry really needs to step up on finding a replacement for old Paul. The office is always left in a goddamn mess every night…”

Harry rounded the table, stared down at the explosion of papers all over the desk and grabbed the paper cup placed to the side to take a huge gulp. Then he took a deep breath and sat down, staring ruefully at the cup as he did so.

“This tea really is _shit_.”

Merlin finally looked up from where he was seated on the other side of Harry's desk.

“If it’s that shit, Harry, why do you always order it from the same coffeeshop?”

Harry pulled a face and put the cup down. “Because it’s the only one that’ll let me get away with faking it as a triple Americano.”

“You and your secret sweet tooth,” Merlin muttered over the edge of his usual honey toffee latte.

“We can’t all be openly sweet-loving dessert connoisseurs who run popular dessert blogs, Merlin,” Harry replied and leaned forward to rest his forehead against his clasped hands. He had been feeling the starts of this headache ever since he had left the client’s office and the tea had done nothing to make it better. _God,_ how bad was the barista with making tea anyway? Harry had always made sure to include exact, precise instructions with his order but it always turned out terrible. How was it possible to be this bad at making tea?

“...There’s something wrong with the Valentine case, isn’t it?”

Harry stifled a groan.

“The fucking media got wind of Valentine’s reluctance to comment on why the scaffolding on the site was only put up in the short amount of time that it was and not tested enough. Also they’re reporting on how the workers were not called back earlier when the rain started. Now they're going on and on about how it is clearly negligence on the part of Valentine Corp and I don’t know, the plaintiff is getting the idea that they can actually win this in court.”

“Valentine’s being a bloody arse himself. He just refuses to cooperate with me. He even flew off to Gibraltar - now the media’s going to have a field day painting him as the irresponsible, heartless millionaire and I’m the one who’s got to find a solution to this shithole of a mess.”

He took the case file, flipped through it then slammed it down onto the table in frustration.

“This was supposed to be an easy one off settlement case. They should have settled. Now court’s going to be one huge messy financial nightmare for them and I-”

His phone suddenly lit up, cutting off the rest of his words. Harry scowled at it, then snatched it off the desk and stabbed at the screen to unlock it.

Then he froze as he registered the app symbol next to the notification.

**(K) New message received from eggsovereasy**

Merlin set down his cup. “More bad news?”

“No,” Harry frowned at his phone, wondering if he should read the message right now “It’s...it’s not…”

Merlin frowned but did not comment further.

“By the way, Charlie came around earlier with the paperwork for this case and your two other pro bonos-”

“To the _hell_ with this case. And I gave Charlie those pro bonos for him to _do_ -”

“You should stop pushing your pro bonos off to the associates, Harry,” Merlin replied calmly but there was worry in his gaze. Harry winced a little internally at that and looked away to the side.

“Merlin, you and I both know pro bonos are pointless farces law firms use to pretend we care about the same people we rip right off for corporations-”

“Harry, you’re not Chester or Travis or even Re-”

Harry shot out of his chair and slammed his hands down onto the table. Papers flew everywhere.

“Don’t you fucking **_dare_** mention his name.”

“Who? Reuben Newman?” Merlin said flatly, rising slowly from his chair. “It’s been over twenty fucking years, Harry. Get over it.”

“ _Shit,_ Merlin, I’m so-” Harry started but Merlin had already strode out of his office, glass doors swinging slowly close in his wake. Groaning, he slumped back down in his chair and kneaded at his forehead.

He had been such a wreck of late. This case was messing around with him too much. He had to get back on track - it was just another case. Just another job to do. It was just the nature of their work.

He picked up his phone to look through his schedule for the day again but the Kingsman notification just popped up once more on his screen.

**(K) From eggsovereasy:**

_Hey! Yeah, I know what you mean. I’m sure you know this anyway, given that you’ve read most of my articles (I notice you know!) but my schedule was shit the first year…okay, I know you said it was totally cool to speak the way I do, but man, you should read your messages! They’re always so proper and stuff! It’s amazing._

_Ah but uh….yeah, my schedule was so bad because I was trying to get a good leg up on things like just trying to get by and a steady source of finances...Well, you know, it don’t have to be dinner. Just any regular block of time will do? Maybe a weekend or something? That better for you? I think what’s most important is that she knows that you’re making an effort and stuffs. Knowing that you’re trying makes a real diff I think. And I know you are! I hope it goes better for you the next time._

_All the best! I’ll be cheering for you._

_P.S Don’t suppose today’s tea was any better? Y’know, the craziest thing is, I only cracked that joke because I put in a couple of hours down at a coffeeshop too, just to help a friend from uni out in her new venture and there’s this crazy customer who sends in this long arse list of instructions for his tea every time. Like man, loosen up a bit bruv! You might find it funny but we call it the Crazy Gentleman order. Hope this makes your day!_

Harry read through the message again and leaned back on his seat, propping his right arm on the armrest and resting his chin on the curve of his fingers. He studied the message and considered its contents for a long moment.  

It was strange. The two formal messages they had sent each other just a few days ago had become a conversation shooting back and forth with gleeful abandon. They were still addressing each other slightly formally, at least on his side, but the conversation topics were now more casual...Somehow, some time, these messages had become the high point of his day.

They weren’t exactly friends, but they certainly were no longer strangers...and Harry would even go so far as to put them beyond the stage of mere acquaintances. He didn’t really know what they were, anymore, but it was exciting all the same.

He hadn’t felt such excitement in a long while.

He closed his eyes and drew a deep breath, letting it out slowly before he reopened them. Eggsy was right. Sometimes trying was what mattered. Renewed, he slipped his phone back into his pocket and then gathered up his things. The case was turning to shite, but he could deal with it.

Right now, he was going back home to have dinner with his niece.

* * *

Roxy stared at the thirty-five page report entitled “A Guide to Owning a Poodle" with an entire ten page appendix of reasons and counter reasons for her to own one typed out in Arial 12 sitting on her study desk in front of her. Her uncle had said that he would be coming home for dinner tonight, which would have surprised her except that for the past week, he had been coming home more and more and even attempting to ask her about her day over whatever take-out he had come home with.  

It was bizarre and had almost weirded her out the first evening but...somehow, she was beginning to like these dinners.

After all, it felt like what she used to do with her mum.

Her mum.

Roxy bit her lip and looked at the faced-down photo-frame on her desk. She reached out for it slowly, fingers brushing over the back of the silver stand which should be on the desk and not in the air...

Just then, the sound of a car drawing into the driveway came from below, interrupting her thoughts. She hastily yanked her hand back and shot to her feet before she could look at the photo-frame again. Grabbing the stack of papers, Roxy tore out of her room and down the stairs without looking back.

“Uncle Harry, I want a poodle,” She declared grandly upon reaching the bottom of the stairs and in the doorway, her uncle froze, key still in his hand.

“You want a _what?”_

* * *

  

**Chapter 4**  
  


****(K)** From galahad:  
**The dinner went as well as it could have gone, once again. Although my niece did suddenly express her interest in adopting a pet, much to my surprise. I suppose I could consider that an improvement of sorts?

She even had an entire folder of arguments prepared in the event that I expressed my disapproval to her idea. Initially, that _was_ the opinion I had, but I’m warming up to the idea - it would be nice for her to have someone to accompany her and pets are supposed to teach you responsibility, right? Besides, I wouldn’t deny her anything.

I have never had the opportunity to own a pet before, however much I wanted a little terrier when I was younger. I would have named him...Oh I don’t know, Mr Pickle or something or other.

Unfortunately, my work schedule then was even more unforgiving than it is now to having regular personal time off. I wouldn’t have been able to take care of a pet at all. So I’m very much inexperienced about this and I do believe you have mentioned that you volunteer in a pet shelter before.

What do you think about this?

 ** **(K)** From eggsovereasy:  
**...I’m sorry but...Mr Pickle? You serious? That’s...I’m gonna be frank here, sorry man, but that’s the daftest name I’ve ever heard for a dog, you’re amazing. And yeah! I think it’ll be an awesome experience for your niece to have and ‘sides, those strays really deserve all the love of a warm, stable home **.**

Shit, you sure sound real busy all the time. Like, what do you do, mate? It sounds really up there and stuffs...crap, was that too much? If it is, just ignore it. I’m just the odd job part-timer, I keep forgetting people got some real fancy proper jobs sometimes.

 ** **(K)** From galahad:  
**I would not say that my occupation is in any way something….’fancy’. I am merely a barrister by trade.

 ** **(K)** From eggsovereasy:  
**FUCKING HELL ARE YOU FOR REAL?

 ** **(K)** From galahad:  
**Yes, I was, as you put it: “for real”.

 ** **(K)** From galahad:  
**I don’t mean to pry, but it has been a while since your last message and it was such an outburst that a part of me can’t exactly help but worry.

 ** **(K)** From galahad:  
**Eggsy?

 ** **(K)** From eggsovereasy:  
**Shit shit shit shit, sorry, been real busy with work and school lately. Actually aw man this just made me seem like some young punk, I’m really not. Not anymore. But that kinda sucks actually. but actually...it feels pretty weird to be going around on campus with everyone like half a decade younger than me or so.

 ** **(K)** From galahad:  
**Please do not worry about it. I appreciate your replies in spite of your busy schedule.

 ** **(K)** From eggsovereasy:**  
Ah right, the message. Oh fuck, did I really send that? Shit, this is embarrassing, Ah crap, I should probably talk more posh too, I’m sorry. Okay but...are you for real? And I think being a barrister is a real big deal!

I know I’ve never mentioned what I study but, what the hell, but my part time diploma’s actually in law. Ain’t nothing as fancy as a law degree ‘cause I don’t have the money for it, but I’m hoping to strike out as at least a paralegal somewhere. Would be loads better than anything I’m doing now.

So yeah, this is some, ahem pardon me, _fucking_ amazing coincidence.

This is so crazy, here I am going through law books thick as my arm and I meet a real life barrister. The internet’s an amazing place.

 ** **(K)** From galahad:**  
Well...I must admit that even I do think that is a rather remarkable coincidence. I did not know that you were currently studying law and even if it were just a diploma, I am more than aware that the study of the subject is not an easy task by far.  
  
To be very honest,I think you are an exceedingly admirable character and a fine example of a young man. I believe in you.

 ** **(K)** From eggsovereasy:  
**Fuckin’ hell mate, I just. Wow. You totally blew me.

 ** **(K)** From eggsovereasy:  
**BLEW ME AWAY. NOT.   **Fuck** shit.

 ** **(K)** From eggsovereasy:**  
I’m so sorry I’m at work right now and a bit busy and I accidentally clicked send without finishing the message. This is a mess, everything’s a mes

 ** **(K)** From eggsovereasy:  
**And I just sent that message too early too.

 ** **(K)** From galahad:  
**That is perfectly alright. In all honesty, I am more amused than anything. After all, I was the one who started with this embarrassing habit of mistakenly sending messages too early. :)

 ** ** **(K)**** From eggsovereasy:**  
Wait, did you just send me a smiley? OH MY GOD YOU TOTALLY DID :D

* * *

Merlin blinked, then blinked again.

“Well,” He said. _“_ It is almost impressive. In a way.”

An errant stalk of daffodils managed to loosen itself from a particularly big bouquet towering over the small cubicle and bounced off Percy’s head. It landed on his desk and the man just turned his head away from his computer to glower at it. Then he scowled, grabbed it and shot it like a dart into the trash can some distance away.

There was the sound of something shifting, a sound that began as a slow groan of a creak and then turned into a loud cacophonous shuffling of leaves and stalks catching onto each other as one of the massive bouquets stacked all around Percy’s desk gave way. It collapsed to the floor with a loud crash. Sniggers came from the other cubicles somewhere behind the mountain of flowers.

Merlin watched on in fascination. Percy just groaned and smacked a hand over his face.

“This is a problem.”

“You did agree to go out with him,” Merlin remarked over his hazelnut caramel mocha with two swirls of whipped cream and leaned against the side of the cubicle wall, squashing a couple of flowers in the process.  

Percy scowled, bashing his fingers into the keyboard a bit too fiercely. “He had tickets to the Royal Ballet. Box seats. They were performing Swan Lake.”

Another bouquet came crashing to the ground. Percy winced, then sighed, kneading at his forehead. “Call it a vice, like those liquid sugar drinks of yours.”

“I think Harry might have picked up a vice,” Merlin mused to himself. Percy’s hand on his mouse stopped moving and he directed a disbelieving look at him

“ _Harry?_ Harry _–I – know – nothing – of – life – aside – from – bad – puns – and - terrorising – associates – and – overly – aggressive – mergers –_ Hart?”

 _You don’t have to describe him that way,_ Merlin wanted to say, then frowned as he realised that that was pretty much accurate. Or rather, that had been accurate. Harry _now_ was…

He wasn’t quite sure when the change had even started and Merlin liked to think of himself as a terrifyingly capable individual and even more kickarse secretary. He had worked with (certainly not under, _pssfh,_ there had been a point where Harry had liked to think that was so – Merlin had set that straight fast enough) Harry for years, from when he had first met the other as a junior barrister in the commerce chambers. There was something different about him now, like his whole demeanour had lightened up, whether it was because of his niece or if he had really taken some tips from that single fathers’ forum he had shown him the other day, Merlin wasn’t too sure. Even if he seemed awfully attached to his phone nowadays and Merlin had caught him more than once smiling at it as he typed into it like some lovestruck teenager talking to their first crush. The very notion was insane.

Still, it was nice that Harry had begun asking him to clear his schedule more and more to make time for his niece. It was like the universe was giving Harry a shot at having the experience of family that he should have had.

 _Goddamn_ Newman.

“Merlin?”

“Ah...yes, Harry is meeting an old friend for dinner. The usual barrister-ly socialising. I've technically knocked off for the night,” Merlin replied, then took in the rest of the IT department and frowned. It was remarkably cleaner than their offices upstairs. Well, they weren’t an outright disaster per say, but it was still annoying to come in in the mornings to dustbins not completely cleared and the pantry not fully put into order (he had come in this morning to find the creamers not separated from the sugar sachets - imagine _that!_ ) because they now only had a part-timer working on their floor. They were little things, mundane details, really, but in Merlin’s point of view, every little thing counted and all of it was beginning to bear on his nerves.

“Janitorial still hasn’t found a replacement for old Paul yet,” He sighed into his coffee. Percy looked up at him, surprised, and adjusted his glasses.

“I’m honestly more surprised you haven’t taken over Janitorial at all… _.and_ I just put that idea into your head, didn’t I?”

 _“Perhaps_ ,” Merlin let a broad grin slowly spread across his face as he took a final sip from his coffee.

* * *

Harry sliced through his steak deftly, the almost raw meat leaving a red trail in his knife’s wake. The low murmur of the crowded restaurant occasionally punctuated the relative quiet of their private room. The restaurant was a popular one, unsurprising since the food was fantastic, but Harry was a regular and had been shown to a room without much fuss although it was almost eight on a Friday night.

He shot a look across the table while pretending to slowly lift his wine glass to his lips. The other man seated there, dressed in a somber dark grey suit, was delicately polishing off his own swordfish with small, precise movements that one would’ve probably not expected from his old age. Ambrose was older than he was, grey hair already beginning to fully crown his head and crows feet pebbling the corners of his eyes, although they had both been in the same class at Oxford. They had both come from similar backgrounds, but unlike Harry, the other at least had had the guts to run off to join the military when he came of age. It still showed, sometimes, through all the bespoke suits and expensive accessories, in the way he sometimes barked his statements and always stood ramrod straight.

He supposed they were the closest to what Harry could consider ‘old friends’, although he would have considered the other his closest friend during his time in university. Even if he had at first only made an effort to befriend the markedly older student with tattoos down his bulging biceps and a rough, raspy voice, never a cigarette far from hand, just to piss his overbearing family off. The reality was that they had only kept in contact over a years over a series of mutual benefits. It paid to cultivate some relationships and nourish them from time to time, after all.

The first hour of the dinner had passed by well enough, with the usual pleasantries being exchanged and small talk being batted back and forth, but as the night lulled on and Ambrose consumed more of the Chardonnay, Harry could tell that the drink was beginning to loosen his tongue.

A small, low buzz sounded out from his jacket pocket. Harry reached in and drew out his phone.

**(K) From: eggsovereasy**

Opposite, Ambrose raised an almost disapproving eyebrow.

“I thought we always agreed to leave work in the office whenever we meet?”

“This isn’t work,” Harry replied, frowning a little at the message. Quickly, he typed in a fast reply and was about to put his phone back into his pocket when it lit up again. Ambrose’s expression was mostly curiosity in spite of the annoyance in his eyes. Harry ignored him and read through the reply, fully aware that the other would catch the small smile that he had broken out into in spite of himself.

“Harry…” Ambrose started, a slight tinge of disapproval in his words that he trailed meaningfully off into the air. Harry’s gaze flickered up to the other to see him frowning at him and he sighed inwardly, knowing full the same old spiel Ambrose was going to launch into again. He defiantly typed out the rest of his reply, before slipping his phone back into his pocket even though it was buzzing again.

He looked back to the other to see that he had raised his wineglass in his direction, white wine sloshing about in the dangerously tilted glass.

“You know, most barristers that survive to our age are either Lord Justices somewhere or retired. You…” Ambrose shook his head, swirling his wine a bit too much. “You are one of the last few oddities left. Working for an _American_ firm, to boot.”

Harry thought back to the very fine offer of scotch that their waiter had offered before sending for the sommelier with a sigh.

“Technically, King & Grant in London has a _joint partnership_ with our American counterpart, Ambrose,” He corrected, placing his cutlery criss-crossing on the plate, leaning forward to rest his chin a little on his interlaced fingers. “You have been particularly persistent of late in trying to convince me to take the silk. All I can say, once again, is that I am quite enjoying my current work.”

“Working for Chester King?” Ambrose said derisively, taking another swig of the white. “I’m almost surprised you find that enjoyable.”

Well, that wasn’t entirely incorrect. The senior King, bless his heart, had been a formidable man. His son, however…

“Well, the King family did sponsor my education,” Harry shrugged, tapping down on his irritation hoping that it wouldn’t show. Chester and him were still not on the best of terms after the row they had had.  “Call it a debt or obligations of sorts."

"An awfully long repayment, if you ask me,"Ambrose muttered over the edge of his glass, silver rimmed glasses clinking a little on the glass.

“Besides, I do mean it when I say that I enjoy my work. The company’s been embarking on a furious international expansion in the recent years. There’s rarely a dull day, not when you have a case in Dubai to settle and then in Beijing the next day. It’s been... fascinating, challenging work. "

“Ah yes, that is true. The last I heard of you, you were off in Casablanca, you sly old fox. Meanwhile I’m stuck here in my chambers drinking brandy and pouring over the same old type of cases, bloody menace…"

Harry took a long sip out of his drink, the corner of his lips curling up a little in a small smirk that he really couldn’t help. “Casablanca was _lovely_ that time of the year.”

“I heard King’s nephew got assigned to you. How’s he working out? My son went to Cambridge with him, imagine _that._ Always said he was a right tosser. A bit too puffed up on his family name and all."

 _Right._ The menace that had been the reason for the right row he’d had with Chester that had been the talk of the firm for almost two months.

“Charlie…” Harry washed down the name with a sip of red. “He’ll survive as a solicitor yet.”

It probably wasn’t entirely the young man’s fault that he was such a thorn in Harry’s side and just generally a huge prick. Honestly, he didn’t know what to think the other must have gone through growing up under Chester’s biased and probably mostly absent tutelage. The realities of the world was hitting him left right and centre right now. Harry knew better than to shelter the other from it, even if he was supposed to serve as his mentor of sorts.  

"I still don't see why you don't want to join the Queen's Counsel. God knows you're more than qualified than that pish-tosh they've been admitting in recent years. Fight my way up to this level and then the times change. I bet you they only got in because of the ridiculous need to maintain representation to the public, bloody useless lot. Like that woman last year,” Ambrose said gruffly, chugging down the last of the wine in his glass and made a face. “God that was terrible.”

“Get in, set up your own chambers and then hire a few kids to keep things running and you’re pretty much set, what with your credentials. Hell, you could practically retire, take the week off to golf or to go on cruises to places unknown and just keep your name on the places to have the dough keep rolling in.”

“It sounds like you are considering that but something is keeping you from it.”

Ambrose’s eyes narrowed in his direction but his mouth quirked up into a small, twisted grin anyway.

“You’re astute as ever, Harry.”

Harry shook the praise away, smiling a little even if he knew full well that the other didn’t mean a single word he had said.

“Now, Ambrose that is hardly fair.”

“The world is not fair, and often fools, cowards, liars and the selfish hide in high places.”

Ambrose looked sourly into his now empty glass and grabbed the bottle of wine at the side of the table, pouring far too much into his glass. Harry just sipped a little at his red once again before lifting up his glass to the other.

“I’ll toast to that.”

“Indeed.”

Their glasses met with a loud, crystalline clink.

* * *

**(K) From: eggsovereasy  
** I’m sorry. Can I ask you a serious question? It’s a bit out of the blue but…I’ve been curious about it for so long.

 **(K) From: galahad  
** Definitely. Please always feel free to ask whatever might be on your mind.

 **(K) From: eggsyovereasy  
** Oh wow. Okay so…Shit now I think about it it’s a really dumb question but…do I like, keep calling you galahad? I imagine it’s probably quite weird. I’ve been called Eggsy so long it’s like super normal for me, but it’s probably strange for you, right?

Or should I call you sir? :P

 **(K) From: eggsyovereasy  
** Shit was that too forward. I was just kidding, I’m so sorry but…I mean, I just had to make that joke. Your friggin profile picture is that of a medieval knight!

You’re secretly a huge Arthurian literary nerd aren’t you?

 **(K) From: galahad  
** I am surprised you’re so well-versed in your Arthurian legends. Yes, Sir Galahad the Loyal of the Round Table. King Arthur’s right hand man. It suppose this makes it rather ironic that my boss’ family name is King.

A knight. The embodiment of bravery, loyalty and kindness. Sometimes I suspect that my online persona is my own way of poking fun at myself.

I rather admire the choice of profile picture on your part too. A golden egg with a ribbon on top. It matches your user fantastically well.

 **(K) From: eggsovereasy  
** Well, what can I say? Got to be a good enough treasure for a knight right?

* * *

_“Without a doubt, the largest area of law within tort law is that of negligence. As you might guess, this usually pertains to cases involving personal injury  Negligence, however, is a relatively new tort. It was largely developed by the judiciary and its expansion throughout the past two centuries reflect the pressures of the industrial urban society on traditional categories of legal redress…”_

The only thing Eggsy could say for himself was that he had been really, really bored.

But really, what the fuck had come over him?

He stared at his phone in horror, scrolling up and down the same few rows of messages in the conversation again and again. He had _no_ idea what had come over him. He had just been so desperate to keep from nodding off in Professor Thatch’s class that he had ended up fiddling with his phone. That was how he had started reading through the his old conversations on the forum again and it had somehow resulted in that….that colossal clusterfuck of a conversation.

Oh my god, Galahad was never going to talk to him again. Ever. Forever. Times infinity.

He just had to make it awkward, didn’t he? He just had to say that, that total teasing, flirty line.

Eggsy groaned and stuffed down the urge to dig a hole to bury himself in. Objectively speaking though, even if it had just happened (it had ** _just_** _happened, okay_ ), a part of him wasn’t surprised. He hadn’t dated anyone in years, at least, not since….not since he broke up with William.

And he did have such an easy, comfortable time messaging Galahad all the time too.

The other sounded _amazing_. Like some crazy polite gentleman stepped right out of the telly or two centuries ago, but he always knew the wildest things and did so earnestly want to do his best for his niece despite being so out of his comfort zone...

And that time when he had said that he believed in him? Eggsy had reread that line at least ten thousand times.

You know, aside from the fact that he could potentially be a serial killer. Which would seriously suck.

Still, even if he weren’t a serial killer and if what Eggsy had gathered of the other was true, he was definitely way out of his league.

Actually, scratch that. Galahad had a nice house in the middle of London complete with a garden and a driveway. He was some high-power barrister that worked right in the middle of the central business district. He wasn’t just leagues away from Eggsy, he was way up there in the sky with the fucking birds and Eggsy was right down here in the mud.

He stared at the offending series of messages, as if hoping he could erase its their existence with the burning intensity of his glare.

Why did he do that? Just _why_?

Then his gaze registered the time displayed at the top of his phone and Eggsy froze. His classes were only supposed to be till seven but Professor Thatch always ran overtime. Usually he didn’t mind because he only started work at Jim’s at ten, but he needed to go by the administrative offices to see if he could still submit his appeal even though it was over the deadline period. He had missed the deadline by accident, having been too tired the day before to remember to submit the forms by their due date. Still, he couldn’t have one of his classes cancelled for this semester now, especially not when he needed it to graduate. He couldn’t afford another semester’s worth of tuition, another semester of not working full-time. Not when time was money.

He cast a wary look around the half-filled lecture hall, then grabbed his bags as quietly as he possibly could and slowly began to inch out of his seat. He usually sat at the back since he usually came either late or had to leave early, but today, for some dumb reason, he had sat in the middle instead. _God,_ he was all kinds of messed up today.

Eggsy could feel the stares of the other students and that of his professor on him even as he started to leave, squeezing his way past a couple of occupied chairs on his way out. The moment he was out in the aisle, he bit his lower lip and made a dash for it, only relaxing a little the moment he was out of those swinging doors.

He groaned and let his shoulders slump a bit as he walked briskly down the corridor in the direction of the admin offices. Eggsy was well aware that most of his professors and instructors didn’t have the best opinion of him, what with him constantly missing classes, falling asleep in lectures or turning in assignments late. He was terribly behind on a couple of them, a fact that became terribly obvious whenever any of his professors called on him.

He was trying his best but…sometimes, he was just so tired.

Eggsy just hoped that the office would hear him out.

* * *

   
**Chapter 5**

  
Galahad still hadn’t replied him.

How fucked was he?

Probably totally.

Eggsy groaned and sidestepped a couple thoroughly engaged in chewing each other’s faces off to set down the tray of empty beer bottles and glasses onto the counter. He coughed a little on the smoke that filled the dingy dive bar. The Black Prince was oddly crowded tonight. A huge party of guests had come round about an hour earlier, clamouring for drinks and loud music, before promptly proceeding to get completely smashed. _Well..._ as long as they weren’t actually smashing anything...He wiped his brow with the sleeve of his long grey t-shirt and squinted about the dim bar.

Around him, sweaty bodies in various stages of inebriation and undress gyrated to the overly loud bass line, spilling drinks all over themselves. Glasses clattered and bottles knocked over each other on the tables amidst the clamour of excited conversation. Eggsy took it all in and then sighed, before turning to lean over the bar counter to get his boss’ attention.

“Oy Jim, I’m going to go out for a bit. That cool with you?”

“Go ahead. Hell, I could do with a smoke myself,” The old bartender groaned, throwing together two more Bloody Mary’s and then sliding them down the counter to two giggling young ladies at the end with a single smooth motion.

“There’s more than enough smoke in ‘ere for you already,” Eggsy grinned back as he dropped his rag at the side of the counter. The back door was at the other end of the pub, so he had to weave his way around the tipsy crowd to get to it. He had barely just managed to squeeze his way past a group of rowdy men who really looked way too young to be legally able to drink when a pair of arms suddenly encircled his torso and something warm and soft pressed up against his back.

“Heeey handsome…” A sleepy-drunk lady’s voice came from behind him. Eggsy twisted around only to look down to see a head of messy blonde hair and a pair of sleepy green eyes staring up at him from around his waist

“Sorry luv, you’re drunk,” He said with a wry smile, then grabbed her arms to gently try and break her hold around him. “I wish I were though.”

He managed to pull apart her clasped hands, but the woman just gave a grumpy whine and twisted her fingers into his sweater.

“Oh my _god,_ Gwen,” A small brunette rushed up to them, drink still in hand and a horrified look on her face. She grabbed her friend and pulled her away. “Shit, I’m so so sorry…”

“Hey, it’s cool,” Eggsy held his hands up before the woman could continue to apologise. “You’re her friend? Make sure she’s safe, kay?”

“Yeah I will, thanks,” She grinned and draped her drunk friend’s arm over her shoulder to support her. “C’mon Gwen…”

Eggsy watched them go and shrugged, before turning back on his way. Tonight was cool for a summer night, although the skies overhead were overcast, obscuring the moon. The bustle of the night traffic drifted down over from the main road just down the corner, a faint humming undertone. The breeze, light and refreshing, ought to have been pleasant but...He sighed and slumped against the alley wall, tipping his head back to thump against the flaking wall. The rough brick scratched at the back of his head. He curled an arm around himself and pressed his lips together.  
  
The only reason he had managed to keep it together was because he hadn’t wanted JIm to worry, not when he knew that the other was already having troubles with running the bar these days since his wife got hospitalised.

He had _pleaded_. Practically fucking _begged._

_“I’m just one class away from graduating...can’t...can’t something be done? Something, anything?”_

The brick wall was rough on the flats of his palms. He peeled open an eye to stare up at the sky.

The worst part was that he had entered the office expecting something like this already.

_“Look here, we aren’t Oxbridge. We don’t get funds from some rich fancy alumni to support us. Why do you think we’ve got to charge you all and keep raising the tuition every damn year? We aren’t some Russell Group school and even they have to keep raising their tuition too. Nothing comes cheap now.”_

_“I know, I know! But...but... where the hell am I supposed to get the money from?”_

_“...I don’t qualify for a scholarship, my grades are too shit....and I can’t receive any of the funds or bursaries and all because of my records, I **know** , you’ve made that perfectly clear already but I’m already working three fucking jobs-”_

_“_ Look, _you think you’re the only one who comes in here with these sort of problems? You **aren’t.** There’s so many others like you who end up having to drop out. Do we want that? No. Is that ideal? No. But life’s not kind.”_

_“If you fucked up, then take responsibility for it and deal with the repercussions. No one is going to hand you a chance to change your life on a silver platter."_

_“Life isn’t a goddamn movie."_

He didn’t quite manage to stop the sigh before it fell from his lips even as he stamped out the urge to slide down to hug his knees.

When would anything he ever did be enough?

Eggsy found his hand reaching for his phone before he knew it.

_No new notifications._

He blinked at the blank phone screen - what had he been expecting in the first place? Eggsy pulled a face and flipped his phone about in his hand once, twice.

Actually, he knew what he had been expecting. Or rather, hoping.

A logo of a golden ‘K’ with a circle around it, along with a particular username and a message.

Don’t be stupid, Eggsy chided himself. It wasn’t like Galahad was obliged to talk to him. He probably had so much better and far more important things to do, for all that a message from the other would really make everything so much better, if even just for that little moment.

He tapped his finger on the side of the phone. It was probably because Galahad had been the last person he had been talking to, that was why he was thinking of him right now. He had just grown used to seeing a quick reply from the other since he was the only person he had been chatting to over the past few days - no, make that _weeks,_ he realised with a sinking heart.

Sure, it wasn’t like he could tell Galahad his problems, but even if he couldn’t, just having his voice heard would be enough. It was the strangest thing. They were just messages without a face, without a voice, from someone on the internet behind a screen somewhere yet somehow, some time along the way, their conversations had become important to him. The other’s every reply gave him this strange sense of reliability, of constancy and comfort.

Eggsy curled his fingers around his phone, staring at the black screen forlornly for a second, as if hoping that the golden logo would somehow pop onto it, then decided he should stop this and dropped it back into his pocket. He reached for his back pocket and grabbed his crumpled pack of cigarettes. He had already pulled one out when he realised that his lighter was in his bag.

He spun the cigarette around in his fingers a little as he looked around the back alley. There was another man standing a little ways off, peering into a bulky, expensive looking DSLR. Well, it was worth a try. Pushing himself off from the wall, he called out to the man.

“Hey mate, you got a light?”

The man looked up from his camera and the light from the garish neon lights overheard flashed through his eyes, letting Eggsy catch sight of the soft dove grey. The man’s white shirt sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, a narrow scarf draped loosely around his shoulders. In the shadows cast by the overlapping glows of the harsh neon and dim amber street lights, the man cut a striking figure, about half a head taller than Eggsy. He could just make out the high, prominent cheekbones further heightened by the dark shadows playing across his face and light brown hair gently curling about his face.

Complete with hat perched low over his forehead.

Hot damn.

A pair of angular, solid black glasses was perched on his nose, but they just framed his sharp eyes and accentuated the authoritative slant to his jaw, shadowed with day old stubble. Those eyes trailed across Eggsy’s own face, before slowly tracing down his frame to take him in.

The way they glinted beneath the lights as they narrowed to take him in, _like danger, like a predator,_ made Eggsy shiver and his pulse _race._

_Make a dragon wanna retire man..._

“Of course, just give me a moment…” The edges of his lip curved up into a dagger sharp smile and he dipped a hand into the side pocket of his vest to fish out a small zippo. “Here you go.”

Eggsy blinked at the offered lighter, drawing a deep breath in hope that the cool air could clear the hot and heady haze that was quickly taking a hold of his mind.

“Thanks mate,” He mumbled, taking the lighter and flicking it open. He stuck the cigarette into his mouth and dipped his head to press the tip of the flame to his cigarette, the fire searing against his own heated skin. He turned back to rest against the grimy wall, taking a long draught of smoke and puffing out two small circles of smoke as he did so.

The sound of a camera shutter went off and Eggsy jumped.

“The _fuck_ , bruv?” He snapped, turning to look at the other man only to see him peering at his camera screen and shaking his head in apology.

“Hey, hey, sorry man, just couldn’t help it. Occupational hazard of a photographer. When you see the shot, you just have to get the shot.”

He flashed him the most brilliant smile, almost harsh in the street lights.

“You don’t sound British,” Eggsy said, flinching a little at the accusatory tone in his voice.

“No, I’m not,” The man replied, adjusting his camera strap to let his camera hang loosely around his neck. He stuck out a hand. “The name’s Edward Newman. I’m American and I know, I know, I’m one of those loudmouthed nosy Yanks…”

Eggsy let out a long trail of smoke and considered him for a moment before taking his hand. The man’s grip was strong and his fingers were surprisingly calloused, especially on the sides of his thumb and index finger. Weird. Eggsy’d only really met other people with a grip like that in the Marines.

“Eggsy,” He offered with a tilt of his head. “And that ain’t what I was gonna say, really.”

“…Really?”

He shrugged and plucked the cigarette from his lips, stubbing it out against the wall and tossing it to the ground. “Yeah I mean, that’s just a stereotype isn’t? Those ain’t very nice.”

“Ah…yeah, I suppose,” The man said, sounding surprised. He nodded slowly to himself, but quickly returned his sharp, silvery gaze to Eggsy. The intensity within it made Eggsy’s breath catch in his throat and face flush a little.

Edward shrugged loosely - it was entirely unfair how fitting that vest was on him - and slipped his hands into his pockets. The grin he wore now was even wider, bordering on an utterly smug smirk that ought to have warranted him a punch to the nose instead of this ridiculous anticipation to see what he would do next.

“But you know, I think I’d like to see if what they always say about British _lads_ is true.”

“Oh yeah, what do they say?”

“Nothing much,” Edward murmured as he stepped forward towards him, his gaze never leaving his eyes. “…except you’re all perverts with a voice to die coming for.”

Well if that wasn’t a total come on, Eggsy didn’t know _what_ was. He let out a long, low whistle. “Bloody _hell_ , now that’s some stereotype. Hate to inform you mate but it’s all not true. Well, maybe for those actors and all, Firth and the likes maybe, but not your average bloke at the bar.”

“Actually I disagree,” Edward murmured lowly, his deep silky voice suddenly sounding almost next to his ear. Eggsy’s head shot up only to see the other merely inches away from his own face and he nearly jumped a little at the sudden intrusion, but forced himself to freeze into place.

“Oh,” Eggsy said slowly, drawing a breath to calm his nerves. He hated the reaction he was having, it wasn’t as if Edward was trying to… _well_ , he was trying to hit on him, but not in the literal sense.

Besides, it wasn’t as if the man wasn’t pretty damn easy on the eyes either. And if the goods beneath the tight arse hipster outfit was as good as they hinted to be...

“…You do?”

“Yes, from what I’m seeing now, I think it’s quite true.”

“You like what you’re seeing bruv?”

“Well, maybe I should just show you just how much I _do_.”

It had been way too long since he had picked up or been picked up someone and Eggsy’s pulse was picking up way too fast. He drew a breath of the suddenly cold night air and slowly let it out.

Hell, why the fuck not.

“Well, maybe you _should._ ”

* * *

“Someone got lucky,” Jim remarked, barely glancing up from the bottles on the bar that he was arranging. Eggsy winced and his hands that were still trying to shift his collar around gave up.

It turned out that for all his hipster rolled-up shirt sleeves and tiny little fitted vest look, Edward knew how to work his tongue piercing devastatingly well.

It was either that or Eggsy hadn’t been laid in way too fucking long. Either way, it had been spectacular, although the parting could’ve left much to be desired. The man had just abruptly pulled away after the heat of the moment with a hand clutching the side of his glasses, then hastily mumbling out an apology and then he was gone.

 _Look,_ Eggsy huffed to himself, _it was just a stupid one time fling sort of shit. Just be thankful that the guy had been hot as blinding with skills to match, kay?_

He reached the bar counter and dropped himself onto one of the barstools. Jim set a drink onto the counter before him and nodded to the side.

“Your phone’s been lighting up like crazy. Looks like you got a message or something.”

“What?” Eggsy mumbled back, a yawn slipping in at the end. He curled an arm around his drink, leaning down to nurse little sips from it. Who the hell would be messaging him at this hour of the ni-

 **(K) From: galahad  
** If I did not know better, I would say you are flirting with me.

Eggsy spat out his drink.

“Oi, that was good brandy, I’ll have you know.”

“Shit, I’m sorry Jim, it’s just...uh…” Eggsy stared at his phone, blinking blankly at it as he realised that he really didn’t have any way to explain this. He scrunched up his face and turned slowly to look at Jim. “ _Uh…”_

Jim raised a brow but just shrugged his shoulders and held his hands up. “Right, okay, sure, it’s none of my business lad, you don’t have to explain it.”

“Thanks Jim, I always owe you one,” Eggsy replied, relieved. He looked back down at his phone, smiled a little at the message, then pocketed it to continue at his drink. He watched from behind his glass as the old bartender continued wiping dry the new load of glasses from the sink.

He did owe Jim. Owed him _so much,_ actually. He was the one who had never given up on him ever since he had started coming in with Ryan and Jamal and the gang as a young punk, making a ruckus and a downright mess more than once. Jim had always given him a disapproving look, but never once chased him out of the bar. (He had asked him once about it and Jim had just went “It’s better for you to be here than getting up to no good on the streets, amirite?”, before tossing him a rag and nagging at him to get back to work.)

Even after the accident, Jim had been the first one to offer him a job and for the first few months, the money that he had gotten from the other (which was definitely far more than he should’ve been paid) was all that had been keeping him afloat.

“...Look kid.”

Jolted from his thoughts, Eggsy looked back up only to see Jim staring down at the space between them, brows furrowed and a troubled look in his eyes.

“Gary, I’ve known you for a while,” He said after a pause, then heaved a huge sigh. “You’re a good lad. You don’t deserve half the shit life’s handed you.”

Jim ran a hand through his hair, looking a little torn at the words he was saying. “My point is, you gotta stop doing this.”  
  
“Jim, I don’t get what you’re-”

“ _Look_ , I ain’t blind, kid. It’s clear as the fucking day that you’re a romantic at heart. And you’ve what? Not gone on a single real date ever since that good for nothin’ Will-”

 _William._ Eggsy sucked in a breath sharply at the name, involuntarily wincing a little.

“It’s been three years, Jim. And…”

 _William._ He closed his eyes. “Don’t put it like that, it wasn’t his fault, he didn’t-”

“Don’t give me that bull, lad. If he’d truly cared for you, he would’ve tried to help instead of blowing up at you all the damn time and then being a cheating arse-”

“Jim, I…” Eggsy groaned, trying to not dredge up the memories he had long pushed to the back of his mind. It had not been a good period of time. Not with all the arguments and fights…

The worse part had been trying to hide the bruises when he went for interviews. He didn’t need them all to assume he had been off fighting or up to no good when he already had police records like that.

“It _was_ my fault, I mean, I didn’t have the time or energy for hi-”

“Are you even _hearing_ yourself? You’ve got to stop doing this to yourself, Eggsy. And all the one night stands and quickies in the back alley, _yeah,_ don’t think I don’t know ‘bout what you get up during your shift, young man. They’re not doing you any good.”

Eggsy dropped his gaze, fingers curling up and shaking a little on the counter. “Well...I don’t exactly have time to date now, do I? ‘sides, who’ll want me?”

_“Eggsy.”_

“I’ll be fine, it doesn’t matter anyway. All I got to do now is focus on getting a job and getting somewhere in life,” He reached for the glass again, glaring angrily at his fingers when they failed to stopped trembling. He took a shaky sip and swallowed hard.

“Everything else...it would be nice, but…”

One could dream, but there was a time for dreams. This was not one of them.

They lapsed into a reluctant silence. Eggsy finished the rest of his drink and then pushed it over for Jim to keep awkwardly. He usually would have left by now, having to get back home to maybe go over his school work a little and grabbing whatever little rest that he could before his morning shift, but he felt too self-conscious to just up and leave right now.

 He shifted about on his chair, fidgeting, as Jim continued to put away the rest of the clean glasses, then frowned at the small stack of papers and torn envelopes that he noticed dumped haphazardly at the end of the bar.

“Jim you should stop throwing your bills around lik-” Eggsy moved to grab the bills to put them away properly in the folder, then registered the words on the top letter and froze. “This…”

“Eggsy…?” Jim turned around to look at him, then saw what was in his hands and paled dramatically. “Eggsy, this isn’t-”

“This is a warning letter from Lloyds,” Eggsy brandished the letter in the air, eyes narrowing accusingly as he slowly moved forward. “Jim, you told me that the repayment on the loans were all fine because the business at the bar was picking up again! What is _this?”_

Jim swore under his breath. “Look, lad, you just got laid off from your job at that restaurant, I didn’t want you to fuss-”

“It says _‘seizure’_ , Jim. I know you put your bar as collateral on your loans. This…” Eggsy shook his head, still trying to wrap his head around everything, around how Jim had kept something this big from him for so long.

“How long has this been going on?” He questioned, then frowned as the real question sank in.

“How have you even still been paying me?”

“Eggsy, stop. Okay, sure the bar’s been running a little short every month for a while now, but that’s fine, your salary’s not a big part-”

“Don’t fucking lie to me! I know you pay me a lot more than what I ought to get for what I put in here!”

Jim glared back, folding his arms although there was a look of guilt in his eyes.

“Don’t you _dare_ tell me you don’t need the money, Eggsy,”

“Not if it comes like this, _not like this_!”

Eggsy realised belatedly that he was yelling now. He backed away slowly, shaking his head even as the papers slipped from his hands and scattered around the bar counter. “I... I’ll deal with my problems somehow, on my own. I’ll find a way. I don’t want to be a burden. I don’t want to be the reason your bar goes down! Not when you’ve already done so much for me!”

“Eggsy I…” Jim started after him but Eggsy just gathered up his stuff and ignored him all the way. He paused in the doorway.

“I’m not coming into work tomorrow. I quit.” 

* * *

 

Daisy paused on the second step, feeling horribly out of place. There had been an actual cobblestone driveway leading up to the house and neatly trimmed flower bushes growing in the planter boxes of the windows of the spacious looking terrace house.

In front of her, Roxy turned around in the doorway upon noticing her hesitation.

“What’s wrong?”

“Uh…” Daisy replied, still distracted by her surroundings. “You’ve got a real nice house, that’s all.”

“I’m really sorry about this,” She continued to apologise as she walked in, then found herself face to face with an aggressively large television screen. Daisy stared at it in shock, then slowly began to register the rest of the spacious living room, decked out with a full sofa set, a fake fireplace over which a mantle of photo frames were neatly stacked. A long, mahogany table with a full set of accompanying chairs stood in what seemed to be the dining room past a broad archway. The floors were a hardwood that practically shone. There was even a piano in the corner. Oddly enough, however, most of the furniture were covered in a fine layer of dust.

“It’s fine. I already called my uncle and he said that he’s fine with sending you home. He’ll only be back past eleven though,” Roxy winced a little apologetically. “I’m sorry I didn’t notice the time, I really wanted to get that jump worked out…”

“It’s okay, my brother won’t be home till really late anyway. He works late on Fridays…” She walked forward in the direction of what appeared to be the kitchen past the dining room and her jaw dropped at the back door just next to the stove..”Shit, you’ve even got a garden!? In the middle of London?  What the _hell_?”

“Yeah, well, family money. Being a barrister doesn’t hurt too, I guess," Roxy said dryly back, dumping her bag over the back of the sofa.

“Winston’s gonna love this. All this space to run around,” Daisy flung her arms out to gesture at _everywhere_ even as she bounded back from the kitchen, then she skidded to an abrupt half. “Ah...yeah, sorry that my bro’s not been able to go down to Pezo’s to do the papers for you, by the way.”

“Don’t worry,” Roxy replied, pulling out her hairband from her ponytail. Her long brown tresses fell about her shoulders.  “My uncle’s been busy closing some big case too, so it’s not like he could make it anyway. I hardly see him around except for dinner time, actually.”

“Feel free to put down your things and make yourself at home by the way. You want anything to drink?”

“No, I’m good!” Daisy walked over to the sofa where Roxy had tossed her kanken and dropped her gym bag gingerly amongst the cushions. She sank down onto the velvet, pulling a silk cushion into her arms and running her fingers along the luxurious fabric. The edges of the dark wood coffee and side tables were gilded with a soft rose gold casing, upon which little intricate etchings spun into patterns. She was pretty sure the entire tea set which served as the centrepiece of the coffee table was made up of actual porcelain.

This was insane.

Roxy came back anyway with a pitcher of ice water and two filled glasses. She placed it onto the coffee table and flopped onto the other armchair, before proceeding to stare contemplatively at the small pile of bags on the couch now.

“Daisy?”

“Hmm?”

“Why did you quit gymnastics?”

Daisy shot up on the sofa at the question. “I…” She sighed and dropped her gaze into her lap. “I dunno. I guess...i only started doing gymnastics because that was what my brother wanted me to do.”

She pursed her lips, thinking back to her very first time in class. It had been so much fun, for all that her tiny shy self as a child had refused to go at first. Eggsy had had to cajole her for an entire week and then treat her to ice cream after.

“I mean, he didn’t _make_ me do it, obviously, but he might as well have slapped a giant flashing sign on his forehead that that was what he really wanted me to do.”

She clasped her fingers together and shook her head. “I only found out later that he used to be in gymnastics too, you know, till my dad, ... _well_ , his step-dad, made him quit.”

“Look, it wasn’t as if I hated it. I _liked_ it. I really do but…. it’s no use if I’m no good at it, right?  And you know what? I found his old certs...His coach thought he could go onto the fucking olympics. The _Olympics.”_

“...I can’t even win first prize at an interschool gymnastics meet,” She threw her hands up with an exasperated shrug. Roxy’s frown did not abate.

“But you like it, right? If you like doing it, if you’re passionate about it, you can always slowly work at becoming better-”

“Yeah, I know, “passion”. But I don’t have that luxury, I think. I’m not doing great for my classes either and I just…” She bit her lip and was pretty sure that her gaze could’ve worn a hole into the cushion in her lap. She pinched the soft fabric tighter between her fingers.

“Everyday, I come home to see my brother trying so hard for me but I can’t even do well in anything even though he’s giving me the chance to do so. I mean, I don’t know if I’m just dumb or too weak-willed to work hard enough at everything, to be like my brother, but _I just can’t do it!_ ”

Daisy slumped back down into the cushions, energy sapped from her outburst. She _hated_ it. Hated that she did not have the talent or determination for anything. Hated that she wasn’t good enough to succeed at the opportunities that her brother had worked so hard to give her.

Daisy had always called her older brother her role model but it was only until recently that she had realised what big shoes she had to fill.

It had been weighing on her mind for weeks,  before she had finally come to a decision.

The worst part of it was having to continue to lie to Eggsy’s face because every time he asked her about her gym classes, the barely veiled delighted look on his face was clear as the day.

How could she dash her brother’s hope?

Still, if she at least focused on her studies instead...got a good GCSE score and then went on for her A’s...If she studied something _proper,_ with at least more certain, stable prospects, her brother wouldn’t have to work so hard.

“I just wish I were actually good at something...like you! Rox, you’re good at like _everything.”_

Roxy blinked, confused, like she had been caught off guard by her words. “I don’t…”

“But you are!” Daisy replied, baffled by the older girl’s puzzlement. She had only known the other for a few weeks now, but from all the sessions that they’d spent together, she had managed to learn so much about the other girl and Roxy was the very definition of an _overachiever._

“You’re _amazing_. You get like, straight A’s, speak like six languages and know so much awesome stuff like horse-riding and kickboxing and golf and so many musical instruments and that’s just the tip of it all. ‘sides, you’re in so many special programs and activities.”

“You’re _so_ sure as hell gonna get into Oxbridge or something. You don’t even have to worry.”

For the longest while, Roxy just stared at her in unreadable silence while Daisy remained frozen, nervously sinking back into the cushions, wondering if she had said something wrong. Roxy got this look sometimes, but then she had told her about her family circumstances too so Daisy had always thought it was just something to do with her mother…

Perhaps it was something more than that?

“Probably,” Roxy agreed, finally breaking the long silence. She frowned and looked away, tapping the side of her armchair with a troubled expression in her eyes.

“I rather admire you, actually. And Amelia. I’ve done so many things but...I’ve never done anything because it was important to me before.

“I don’t really know what is.”

Her confession hung heavy in the air. Daisy fidgeted, not knowing what to say now. She had not expected an answer like that at all.  
  
Thankfully, just then, the sound of a car turning into the driveway broke the silence between them.

“Oh!” Roxy shot up from her chair and gestured for Daisy to follow suit. “That’ll be my uncle. C’mon!”

* * *

 “Just up ahead’s fine!” Roxy’s friend whom Harry hadn’t quite caught the name said, as she leaned forward over the dashboard to peer through the dark street at the lone figure making his way through the in front of the block of flats. “I think that’s my brother actually. Thank you so much for sending me back!”

“You’re very welcome, young lady,” Harry replied back as he rolled the car to a stop right before the driveway into the estate.The young blonde teenager beamed brightly back despite the hour of the night, thanked him once again and waved goodbye to Roxy before going on her way. Roxy relocated herself to the front seat and buckled herself in, then seemed to be struggling with deciding whether or not to say something.

“...Thanks for sending my friend back, Uncle Harry,” Roxy spoke up finally.

“It’s good that you’re making more friends here,” Harry replied, staring up the engine once again. Besides, she seemed like a lovely girl, although he still wasn’t too sure how Roxy even knew her in the first place. He was positive that Roxy didn’t know her from school, so…

“How did you meet her?”

For a moment, Harry thought that Roxy wouldn’t reply. He slowly turned from the curb, but couldn’t help but notice out of the corner of his eye Roxy’s friend greeting the figure of a young man with an enthusiastic hug. So that was her brother.

“Well…” Harry almost half expected Roxy to stop there, but to his surprise, she actually continued. “It’s a long story. Remember Winston the poodle?”

* * *

  **Chapter 6**  
  
KINGSMAN POST OF THE DAY:

**A Quick Update - I’m still around!**

_by eggsovereasy_ **11/4/15 5.56am**

I’m real sorry I haven’t been posting anything lately or replying people. Been busy with work and school due to some...problems that happened. Dealing with it okay though, thanks to all those who have been asking after me!  
  
K on a happier note, if you all have seen the announcement some days ago, the admins are planning a meetup again - this time we’re collaborating with Netmums to organise one big London-wide single parent meetup. Here is the link to the details! Apparently there’ll be cake and lots of coffee - no drinks, unfortunately, gotta think of all the little ones that might be there.

**Comments (19):**

  1. **philtheavengingdad:** _eggsy will you be going for the meetup? haven’t seen you at one in a while!  
_**eggsovereasy:** _yeah it’s been awhile hasn’t it? I really dunno though. I’d like to     go because there’s people I wanna meet but I don’t think I can, not this one anyway. But go and have fun on my behalf!_



* * *

**(K) To galahad:** Hey...uh by any chance, you wouldn’t happen to be going for the meetup thingy right?

 **(K) To galahad:** Heeeey I know this messaging thing is a bit glitchy sometimes, so...did you get my last message ‘bout the meetup thing?

 **(K) To galahad:** Not too bother but I haven’t heard back from you in a while, just...I guess it’s been strange not getting a message from you

 **(K) To galahad:** To be honest, I kind of miss it….a lot

 **(K) To galahad:** As in, it was totally cool to have someone to chat with all the time, y’know! Not anything. Oh god, just ignore everything I said. ACTUALLY IGNORE ALL MY MESSAGES.

 **(K) To galahad:** But if you are planning to go for the meetup, I’d really like to meet you. So... just let me know?

* * *

It had rained in the night. Now, in the heat of the day, the humidity turned the air muggy and stifling. The construction site was covered in a hot dry dust that made his throat itch even though parts of the ground was still muddy enough that he had to lift his legs all the way up to pull his boots out from. The manager had long since disappeared into the small air-conditioned office at the gates after yelling at them to take their mid-day break.

Eggsy had been carrying things around the whole day and his shoulders were beginning to ache a little. WIncing, he shrugged and rolled his shoulders, trying to work the ache out of the muscles as he walked over to join the rest of the workers that usually worked alongside him.

He wasn’t very close to them, the small motley group of workers that were at least British on the site. Most of them had at least two decades on him and had known each other since forever, from working on sites around the city for years. Well, except for David, who was even two years younger than him. There weren’t a lot of local lads like the two of them who worked this line, although one of the oldtimers had gruffly mentioned that there were more young’uns having to join because they had no other choice, the economy being what it was.

Still, it would’ve been better if David weren’t so painfully shy that half the time all Eggsy had for company at the site were the older workers who constantly shared stories about people and places and times before he’d even been born.

He had at least heard about Nathan Brown, an old technician who had worked for the company for years until he had gotten into an accident at this very site. Broke his leg and all, not good news for an old man who had to work on his feet for hours to feed his family. It had gotten all over the news and even made Eggsy a little worried about applying, but his construction license was going to expire soon and he did need the money. Besides, thanks to that accident, they’d been offering a higher than usual hourly wage _(a whole thirteen pounds!)._

The other workers were in the midst of a heated discussion on the topic when he neared. Eggsy just dropped himself down onto the far end of the bench quietly, pulling open the crumpled paper bag containing the squashed sandwich that he’d packed for lunch.

“Did ya hear ‘bout what happened to Old Nat? The company really screwed him over man, the entire thing just went tits up.”

“He was the stupid one who wanted to go to court anyway. Should’ve taken the fucking money.“

“Yeah, like we stand a shit chance. Valentine can get the best lawyers he wants.”

“I don’t know man, I heard from Paula ‘bout the court case. Lawyers, fucking sharks they are, just out to get the best money and ain’t none of them bother about the common man on the street.”

“Tell me about it. Heard Nat’s wife even broke down in court thanks to that heartless arse of a lawyer - twisted her words to some wild story and then put some cock shit story on the table and just like that - they’ve got to pay Valentine for suing his fine arse.”

“Can’t argue against ‘em lawyers. Like a snake, they are, snake-tongued. Twist your words and throw it right back at you. Can never trust one. They’re just rich bastards who don’t know the meaning of a true hard day’s work.”

Eggsy winced. He’d heard about the case and he knew that the lawyers that Valentine’d got were all bought in his favour, top class and whatnot and shit, but that wasn’t fair enough to say statements like that. He had never really told the others what he had been studying, even if it’ll never amount to anything as fancy as a lawyer, but he’d quickly picked up the dislike of white-collar class that went around here and he had kept it to himself, to be save.

That’s not true...you’ve been watching too much telly

“Oy Eggsy! Aren’t your classes starting soon?” One of them, Albert with the grey crown tattoo, suddenly elbowed him sharply and Eggsy nearly choked a little on the last of his sandwich. The rest burst out laughing although Albert shoved his bottle under his mouth and Eggsy grabbed it, grateful not only for the water but the distraction from the question that it’d served.

“You’re a crazy bastard lad, still in school and all. The lot of us long gave up on it back then!” Albert guffawed, looking around at the rest to spur them into an agreeing laughter.

At the far end, Henry, by far the oldest worker that Eggsy had seen on the site, just sighed good-naturedly and nodded his wizened head to him.

“Shut up and don’t listen to them lad, you go right ahead and work hard for your future. You’ve got years ahead of you, not like us old geezers,” Henry landed a heavy handed thump on his back, nearly knocking the air out of him. Eggsy winced and forced a smile on his face even as he tried to catch his breath. God, he knew that these old men only had the best of intentions at heart, but keeping up with them sometimes was a task in its own right.

“Oughtn’t you be getting going now?” Henry continued, pointing towards the large digital clock on the side of the site office. “It’s ‘bout the end of your half day shift already.”

 _Shit,_ and he had promised Daisy to head over to Pezzo’s this afternoon for something too.

* * *

They had had the fucking balls to rig the trial.

Like Harry had been some shoddy two bit pathetic at his job barrister who needed to win through _cheating._

He stormed through the doors of the air-conditioned office, the dust of the site whirling in the wake of the wildly swinging door. Behind the desk, Gazelle shot up a little in her chair, startled, then slowly leaned back down again with a knowing smile on her face upon seeing him.

It all made his blood boil even more.

“Mr. Hart,” She began, crossing her legs and interlacing her fingers in a single fluid motion. “I believe your services are no longer required at the moment, but trust me when I say that we have conveyed our utmost thanks and appreciation for your hard work to Chester King.”

Harry loomed over her desk, glowering. He had known from the very first meeting with Valentine that his secretary, ‘secretary’, was the true viper behind the organisation, but he had underestimated the lengths that she would go to, or her _ruthlessness._

What she had done was just on the border of blackmail and extortion.

“Trust me when I say that your... _efforts_ at the last trial was not appreciated at all.”

Gazelle tutted lightly but made no other sign of registering his words. Instead, she reached out for the piles of papers on her desk and continued going through them nonchalantly.

“It’s called setting an example, Mr. Hart.”

“I say revealing the way the Valentine Corporation deals with civil cases would be setting an example too.”

The woman gave a long drawn out sigh.“You say that like it’s a threat you can carry out, Mr. Hart. Don’t forget that our contract with you and your company, most notably, with Chester King, forbids you from divulging any such information.”

“Not when it’s _illegal._ ”

Gazelle paused in the midst of shuffling her papers in pointless piles across her desk, a dagger edged smile blooming across her dark red lips as she cast Harry a long sideways look.

“Ah, but _it isn’t_. All we did was remind a couple of individuals that their words might carry repercussions, tweak certain circumstances, you know. It’s surprising how easily problems can go away so fast once we make sure everyone is aware of their lot in life.”

“That’s not how the law works-”

“No, but that’s how money works, Mr Hart,” There was an obvious overtone of pity in her gaze now - pity, and disdain. “You should know that, better than most.”

Harry sucked in a terse breath that shot through him like ice. He regarded the other, eyes narrowing in suspicion. It couldn’t be - there was no way she could have possibly known.

“I do not appreciate what you are insinuating.”

“Really now, do you think I am that poor at my work, Harry Hart,” The woman replied, looking far more like a cheetah than her namesake. She tapped the edge of her pen lightly against the plastic arms of her chair slowly. “Officially I may be a secretary, but my job scope encompasses far more than that.”

“Besides, I was under the impression that you cherished winning above all. What was it, the track record for moot court you had back in Oxford? Heard it was only broken fifteen years after you graduated,” She continued, twirling the pen about her fingers now.

“Suddenly having a heart for the common man? That’s quite unlike you.”

She propelled herself out of the chair lithely, all the grace of a dancer in her step. Whirling around, Gazelle leaned over the desk and came eye to eye with Harry who just barely stopped the urge to step back.

“What about the thousands of workers you’ve caused to be laid off in your ironfist contracts for the vicious takeovers that you spearhead for large conglomerations? Family-run companies that have been in the business for years suddenly having their management torn to pieces, operations outsourced and employees put out of work with little to no pensions.”

Harry remained silent even as Gazelle stared into his eyes.

It was not like he did not _know_ , just...

“Such a pity,” Gazelle said finally and shook her head, long straight hair falling about the elegant dip of her neck perfectly. “There’s a reason why we selected you to represent our company, you know.”

Harry steeled his gaze. “You know that eventually your workers will find the truth. You can’t hide these sort of things forever-”

“You think that’s really going to stop people working for us?”

Gazelle shot him an incredulous look, then upon seeing the perfectly serious expression on his face, barked out a harsh laugh. She slid off the desk and tossed a file before Harry that opened up to reveal a thick sheet of building plans.

“We’re going to sell these apartments for a thousand pounds per square metre, even more for a penthouse suite. The workers? They get paid thirteen pounds an hour and think it’s a luxury. And _it is_. You know how much the average labourer in the United Kingdom makes? _Seven pounds an hour_.”

“There will always be people working. Look, some of newest blood,” She reached to her side to drag out another file, throwing it down to join the first. The faces of two young men stared up at him, details emblazoned over their hastily scrawled employment contract.

“David Schoffer, age twenty three. Gary Unwin, age twenty five,” Gazelle recited, pushing the file over the table. “Fine young men, or so I hear from the other workers. They should, by all means, have a promising future instead of working a dead end job that pays them a pittance an hour just to make ends meet. They’ll be lucky if they ever get the chance to be trained to get to move up to a more technical job.”

“You fight up, by hook or by crook. That was how Valentine Corporation was founded. That is our company philosophy. The world isn’t _fair._ It’s never been fair.”

“Besides,” Gazelle folded her arms and nodded at Harry. “I don’t think you’re in a position to judge with your thousand pound retainer fee, fancy suits and Oxford background, Mr. Hart. I’m sure to these men, Oxford is but a far away dream.”

“What’s done is done, you shouldn’t pay it that much mind, Mr. Hart. The only thing you should pay attention to is your fine retainer’s fee.”

* * *

 

The tap had decided to be finicky today. Which was the reason why Eggsy was currently dripping wet, soaked through from head to toe. Even his towel had been a casualty. He stared ruefully at the wet and hence useless fabric, then sighed and ran a frustrated hand through the drenched strands of his hair. He wrung the towel out the best he could, then stripped off his shirt to do the same, tossing both over his shoulder as he made his way back to the office to sign out on his timesheet.

Thankfully it was sunny out, so the air was warm on his bare skin, upon which he could still feel the rivulets of water trickling down his body. He was still wondering if he ought to swing by his locker to get his jacket before going into the office when the loud crash of the door slamming close caught him off guard and nearly drop the water bottle in his hands. Who the fuck-

Eggsy stared at the man who had just stormed out of the office, blinking dumbly at his figure because was that an actual suit the man was wearing? Who even wore a fucking suit around a construction site anywa-

All his thoughts came to a crashing halt as the man neared him.

He was all fire in stride and thunder in his piercing gaze, authority like a well-worn cloak around his shoulders. Still, in spite of his apparent anger, his movements had a certain fluid grace to them that belayed a sort of fine measured control that was, frankly speaking, fucking hot. Fine as _hell_ , really, fine like the way that grey suit was looking on the man too, an actual suit complete with vest that looked all dapper and shit.

He couldn’t help but let his gaze trail slowly down the other’s figure, eyeing the way the fabric, rich and soft, fell about his frame while trying to squash the thoughts forming at the back of his mind and heat pooling low in him. The suit fitted the man perfectly, wrapping around broad, strong shoulders like a glove, tapering in around his waist and cut loose to show off legs long as fuckin’ miles.

It fitted the man like it cost ten times what Eggsy made in a year, actually. And it probably did.

Not that he was complaining because wow, what a sight-

Too late, he realised while his brain had had the foresight to stop those words from coming out from his mouth, it hadn’t been quite able to stop the whistle that fell from his lips.

The man stopped mid stride, turning about to level a sharp look in Eggsy’s direction that had him catching his breath because _good lord-_ the intensity of his gaze was sending shivers down his spine, not to mention the slick dark brown hair curling about that jaw that Eggsy swore he wouldn’t mind kissing right now and hell, if he’d asked him to drop to his knees right now probably he would- wait what?

“I- I’m sorry,” He ended up babbling, hands flailing and flinging water droplets everywhere. The wind was chilly like ice against his increasingly warm torso.

“I didn’t mea-”

“Don’t bother,” The other snapped, then walked off without another word, leaving Eggsy standing there dumbly staring after his wake.

* * *

  
**(K) No New Messages Received**

* * *

 

**Events that happen after:**

Roxy teaches Daisy self defense 101. Daisy teaches her how to parakour 101. Roxy brings up her problems with the poodles-> Daisy asks her to ask Amellia (who’s studying to be a vet)

Harry and Eggsy both tell each other the ENTIRE STORY of their meeting while complaining to each other about it. They’re both sympathetic to each other.

Harry has fancy company function AND EGGSY SENDS HIM GRUMPY CAT MEMES. Also Percilot happens.

Merlin puts out an ad for cleaners. Eggsy responds.

 

Roxy Meets Amelia.  _They would eventually get together._

Merlin interviews Eggsy

Harry thinks he’s starting to fall for Online Eggsy

First day of work Eggsy!

He secretly admires Harry when he sees him striding around all posh lawyery but when he’s cleaning he discovers Eggsy’s first day of work! He hates Harry because he finds out that Harry is pretentious earl grery fucker.

Eggsy also has terrible run in with overworked and stressed af Charlie who’s lashing out. Charlie does him in and plays a prank on him .

Eggsy gets locked into Harry’s office and realises. Harry runs into Eggsy in his office. There is a very dramatic moment of realisation (that Harry is the annoying Earl Grey custommer)

Harry also begins to realise Eggsy is frustratingly attractive.

Complains to, you guessed it, Eggsy (online).

 

Sometime later:

 

Eggsy asks Roxy for advice for Daisy’s birthday

 

Roxy invites Daisy over to her house for her birthday party.

Harry asks Eggsy why he didn’t pursue his dream. Harry reveals that Roxy’s full name is Roxanne and she is his niece, not her daughter. Eggsy goes to check his messages.

Daisy calls Eggsy by his nickname. Harry catches on and starts clicking things into place. Eggsy messaages ‘galahad’ and Harry’s phone lights up.

They have a huge Oh Shit moment.

 

At this point Eggsy is 1. about to get kicked out of school 2. extremely low on funds 3. feels like he can't do anything right for Daisy and 4. Doesn't know what to think of his relationship with Harry

Eggsy’s really too distressed he’s like what the fuck of everything and he goes to the pub to spill his sorrows (and has a couple of drinks. And the next day he is SOBER but he has the accident on the site because the scaffold gives way beneath him and he falls.

Newman takes up the case (Harry has a huge row with Chester because of this)  and he’s giving Egggsy shit in the settlement but Harry just charges in and takes charge.

Eventually Harry straightens out the case, gets Eggsy his settlement. They get together after a couple of months of waffling about and Harry helps Eggsy pass his Law diploma. Harry ultimately leaves the firm to start his own and Eggsy naturally goes along with him.

Roxy gets a letter from her uncle Alastair which is his proposition to become Kingsman.

Daisy decides to follow her passion.


	8. This is How They Fall in Love

  
The rolling thunder outside shakes the old mansion right down to its bones. It’s a right dreadful storm that’s been brewing all afternoon and night, but only breaking now, late into the quiet of the early morning. The slowly circling K on the large screen up front casts a luminous green glow on Merlin’s figure as he trudges back to his office through the cubicles and estranged rolling chairs scattered all around.

The mug of tea he had left his seat to brew is scalding in his hands but it is a sensation that is strangely disconnected from the rest of him.

The funny thing is, it is not the first time he has dragged the world back from the brink of apocalypse with his fingertips.

(It is not the first time he has seen a friend fall)

He sets the mug down onto his table and the thud resounds through the empty room. Merlin stares at it listlessly for a moment, then whips off his glasses to knead away the knot that is beginning to form between his brows once again.

The patter of the raindrops begin to pick up, a symphony of delicate rustling as they dance over the grass that soars above the gentle humming of the computers. He can already feel the chill of the damp seeping in through the stone and it stings through the burden weighing down his shoulders, clinging to him like one of his well worn sweaters.

So much for sleep tonight. Well, it was not as if he got much sleep to begin with, the nature of his work being what it was.

Merlin replaces his glasses, watching the steam slowly coiling up from his tea come into focus again. Rounding the desk, he sinks into the plush leather of his chair and lets a sigh curl into the air.

A moment’s mourning for the lives that were lost was all he could afford each time. At least the work would take his mind off matters.

His fingers have barely just brushed the keyboard when the door clicks open. He jerks his head up immediately at the interruption, but the brighter light suddenly pouring in from the main office into his dim one blinds him. Merlin squints, only easing his tensed shoulders as his eyes adjust more to the light to reveal a familiar figure.

“What are you doing here, Eggsy?”

The door opens just an inch more and Eggsy slips in, although still lingering in the small slip of light he is letting in. His fingers curl over the frame.

“...Can’t sleep. Didn’t want to stay in the ward either.”

He’s wearing a loose, easy grin but it doesn’t reach his eyes. Merlin straightens up in his chair and frowns as his eyes sweep over the shadows on Eggsy’s face, made all the more harsher in the contrast of the harsh light behind him. His stance is uncertain, the fingers of his clasped hands fidgeting about restlessly. The rumpled off-white sweater on his torso is streaked with deep creases and an indentation worn into one of the sleeves.

There wasn’t much at all for field agents right now - with admin staff still sorting out whatever loose ends they could. Eggsy should have been home, resting.  
  
“What about your mum? Daisy?” Merlin asks, but doesn’t press. The circles beneath Eggsy’s eyes speak for themselves, couple with the slant to his shoulders and slight sluggishness in his pace. He hadn’t realise that the other had been getting so little rest ever since they had returned back to the HQ and dove headfirst, like the rest of the world, in picking up the repercussions of the senseless madness that had occurred. Really, had Valentine even thought this through properly or had he just been too fixated on whatever warped vision he had cooked up in his mind?

Eggsy makes a noncommittal noise as he shuffles over, dropping down onto the armchair at the side of his long desk.

“I dunno....just somehow feels weird going back. Mum’s just g’na ask me more ‘bout the house and what happened and all. Besides, the cut on my cheek’s still fresh an’ it’ll probably be a week or so before the last of the bruises go…”

Eggsy shrugs, a careless motion but his shoulders slump and head droops a little at the end. Merlin’s starting to realise that he had actually seen very little of the other over the past few days, too deluged with work to notice that Eggsy had been not been around...or around, rather.

Had he been spending the entire time in the medical ward?

“-so like, I told her I gotta help out at work overtime ‘cause of what happened and stuffs. Think she don’t be believin’ me though.”

“Eggs-” Merlin sighs, turning slowly to face the other as he addresses him only to freeze as his gaze chances across the edge of a certain folder poking out of the stack, the beginnings of an elegantly escribed “Har-” just visible on that corner.

Thankfully, Eggsy’s gaze is directed away from him right now, tracing over the lines in the floor.  
Hoping the other had not yet caught sight of it, he reaches out to the folder and shoves it further into the stack as discreetly as he can. He tries not to think of Eggsy’s own folder sitting in the pile that he had only just returned to their safe boxes. It could have been in the stack on his desk right now, or worse.

“Rox was scoldin me to get out of the wards already... and well, you are the only other person around.”

  
Merlin gives Eggsy a long wordless look, watches him play with a pen plucked off the side of his desk, twirling it round and round his fingers.

It’s strange. Strange how this disruption to his usual solitude doesn’t feel uncomfortable at all.  
Blinking at the jarring revelation, Merlin yanks his gaze away and reaches out to his keyboard again. He stares at the screen for a moment, reading through the lines of the reports again and again without really registering anything.

He’s also weĺl aware that Eggsy has begun nosing through his memos and poking at the lock on his drawer. Striking the delete key, he gives up the pretense of work.

“So you’re here to annoy me then?”

  
“Didn’t think ya minded, to be honest,” Eggsy sticks his tongue out a little as he leans forward on his desk, head lolling a little on folded arms. Merlin levels him an unimpressed look, to which he answers with a wink, but he still catches how the look in Eggsy’s eyes quickly turns to a distracted gaze even as he turns away. It’s a troubled look that should be unnatural on eyes as young as his, but Merlin had glimpsed it

How are you? Are you doing okay? Did you love Harry?

The questions well up in his chest and nearly push past the edge of his lips when he stops them in their tracks before they fall from his mouth. His grip on the mouse tightens and he looks down at the desk in front of him, mouth pressed thin like the grain of the wood.  
  
_Because I did too._

The unwitting confession skids to a crashing halt behind all the questions on his tongue, the words still tasting of the same bitter irony as back then when he had first realised it.

He had been much younger then though, with a fuller head of hair, imagine that. Still in the field, always half drunk on his nights off and crashing at Harry’s place at two in the morning, until he shot someone and it all went to hell.

“Thanks for havin’ me here though, for not...kicking me out, I...really ‘ppreciate it,” Eggsy mumbles into his arm, sounding young and old at the same time and the ache that had first started without him knowing when he first flipped through the other’s file only grows even more.

He’s not in any real position to offer any comfort, though, so Merlin just ignores the urge to reach out to pull the other to him and tangle his fingers in his sweater, press his fingers right up against that warm pulse, to touch and feel and make sure as if that could take away some of the pain, a stupid thought to even begin with from the start. ignores the cold tingling in his fingers, the urge to reach out to pull the other to him and tangle his fingers in his sweater.

The silence that falls between the two of them is punctuated only by the rhythmic tapping of the keys, but it is enough to amplify the depth of the things left unsaid between them.

Perhaps that was for the best.

* * *

Somehow the next night, Merlin isn’t surprised when the door cracks open at one in the morning and Eggsy slips in, his threadbare grey sweater no less worn and crumpled than his white t-shirt from yesterday. Eggsy treads quietly over the carpet and sinks into the chair that Merlin’s left there. 

He doesn't say anything.

* * *

 

Two nights pass uneventfully, filled with endless reports and files and caffeine filled attempts to bring together the tattered fragments of the organisation that remains. There’s a lot more administrative work than it appears to have, a lot more bureaucracy than Harry or Chester had liked to admit.

After all, there had to be a human resources to staff salaries and vet records, tech to provide tech support, surveillance and monitorring things, even a damn Janitorial.

 The screen up front is making his dry eyes hurt a little with its jarring artificial brightness.

Thankfully, this was one of the last videos they had to go through tonight. Merlin drains the last of his coffee with a groan and looks over to the figure of the new Arthur leaning on the desk beside him. Her dark eyes are perfectly sombre and serious, a respectful stoic demeanour that belays the reason for her selection as the new chief of the organisation. He puts the mug back down and looks back to the screen, paused on a man’s arm ( or could that what they truly be called anymore?) bringing two young boys down onto the hood of a car.

Not exactly a pleasant sight to digest.

Kingsmen agents are deadly fighters. With all their limitations removed, that tenuous thin line holding them back from complete destruction, they were a hurricane of chaos and death. Harry had proved that all too well in that church in Kentucky, but so had too many of their other agents.

Still, when it came down to it, they were still only one against the multitude.

Merlin thinks he might be sick if he has to watch Gaheris’ last feed again. The other agent had been admitted shortly after Merlin himself, back in the day. When Valentine had put the signal into operation, he had been on a mission tracking down a drug cartel in New Mexico. Deep in the heart of the city, there had been little hope of him ever getting out alive in the madness of pure, unadulterated violence, however devastatingly well he had fought.

Beside him, Arthur surveys the video with a critical eye even as she flips through the file that Merlin had taken out from the safety deposit boxes for her. All of Gaheris’ fields regarding his next-of-kin had been despairingly empty. It was far more a common occurrence that they (or rather, just Chester himself) had liked to admit.

They had never had to arrange for so many new graves to be dug before.

“Hey Merlin-”

The voice makes all of his thoughts come to a screeching halt and his heart sinks as he whips his head around to confirm Eggsy bounding up to them. The young man darts into the room, looking much better than he had last night when Merlin watched him fall into a fitful sleep on his desk, the spare jacket he kept in his office draped across his shoulders. He had left the still sleeping Eggsy in his office this morning, hoping that the other would busy himself in the training rooms or be caught up with the unstoppable force that was Roxy Morton, or at least stay in the goddamn medical wards again…

“Wot’s this?”

Merlin stifles a groan as he watches the young man take in the scene before him and eyes settle on the looping video on the large screen.

  
“Is this-”

“You shouldn’t be here, Eggsy,” Merlin snaps, wincing a little at the amount of bite in his voice. It’s weird, but there’s a part of him that feels right, knows it’s right to drive the other from this scene, that Eggsy shouldn’t see this, even if it’s just a tiny little bit of protection but that’s all he can offer right now.

On his part, Eggsy’s gone strangely quiet and the small part of him is slowly turning into regret.  
  
“This is one of the agent’s feed from that day, wasn’t it?”

Merlin puts down the clipboard in his hands back onto the desk a little too fast. The plastic clacks harshly on the wood.

“You shouldn’t have to see that,” Eggsy continues in a small voice, brows knitted together and a look in his eyes that Merlin doesn’t quite understand but shoots an icy tendril of worry through his gut anyway.

Beside him, he knows Arthur is observing the situation keenly for all that she is staring nonchalantly at the screen. She doesn’t know enough to intervene, but Merlin would readily bet she would know all about this by the next morning. There was a reason why she had been the immediate choice for the new position after all.

“I see it all the time, Eggsy,” He says slowly, picking his words and watching the depth of emotions interplay in those bright blue eyes. It’s mostly distress, some anxiety and a dash pain...and none of it sits well with him.

“You shouldn’t have to-” Eggsy repeats again, face scrunching up a little as he alternates wide-eyed looks at the screen and Merlin. “Not this.”

Arthur’s heels make a little click on the floor as she steps forward, clearly sensing how the situation is slowly spiraling out of control. “Galahad-”

“Harry is Galahad.” Eggsy snaps back, almost sneering, then he is turning on his heels and storming out of the room as quickly as he came. Merlin can feel the touch of his old friend picking up at the back of his head again, promising him an afternoon of a dull ache of a migraine if he doesn’t resolved this situation somehow soon.

“What was the extent of the relationship between the old Galahad and Gary Unwin?” Arthur asks as she follows after Eggsy’s departing figure.

“Truthfully? There wasn’t one.”

And I think that was the problem.

“You have to forgive him. Eggsy is not...in the best of mind currently. Please bear in mind that he is young, inexperienced and has just been through an extremely stressful series of events.”

Arthur gives a small hum and then an uncharacteristic shrug that creases the shoulder line of her straight pressed suit. “I don’t think any of us are in the best of states now, Merlin. Stop worrying, I can practically hear your thoughts echoing from your head.”

“Besides, I don’t think any of us who has lived through that day will ever be again,” Arthur continues with an almost self-deprecatory smile.

“Did you-” Merlin starts to ask, then stops as he realises that perhaps that question was hardly appropriate for all that it had become a commonplace now. Did you lose someone on Valentine’s Day?

“Did I now?” Arthur replies, clearly having caught the rest of Merlin’s words anyway as she sweeping up the tablet from the desk to go to the next video.

“Don’t you find it funny how Valentine failed but still accomplished his goal of changing the world? Nothing will be the same again, nothing at all.”

“You should go after...Galahad,” She decides, “See if he’s okay. God knows we all need that now from time to time.”

* * *

It’s late into the night once again when Eggsy comes bumbling through the door, hands tucked into the pockets of that atrocious jacket that Harry had complained to him over many a pint about.

For all his complaints, however, the depth of fondness beneath the exasperation hardly made it sound sincere.

What would he do to hear those words in that voice once again? In the bar that they shared,

Eggsy hovers at the door, worriedly

“Merlin, I’m sorry, that was fuckin’ stupid of me, I mean, yeah, ‘course you must see that all the time, yeah? It’s your job, your fucking job and I was just overreacting...”

“”Fuck don’t shoot, please don’t shoot me, Chester’s dead kay! He’s dead! Old fucker tried to kill me like he did Harry, he’s got the same scar as Valentine’s people and shit, he’s long gone over to the bad side, got a phone with some location an’ countdown, think that’s where his base is located? Here take it-”

In the urgency of the situation, he had focused more on the second half of Eggsy’s hasty confession. Now, thinking back, he’s starting to realise that he should have caught the underlying meaning of the first part too.

“You saw it, didn’t you? Harry’s feed.”

Harry getting shot. Harry’s blood. Harry falling to the ground.

The screen stilling on the empty blue sky, the line of his heartbeat flattening out to a single straight line.

They still don’t know if he’ll ever come to.

The way Eggsy recoils tells him all that he needs to know.

“I-I was just being dumb, sorry for comin’ in like this, I’ll go now-”

“Eggsy,”

Someone has to be strong. He draws Eggsy in, tucks the other’s head under his chin and curls into his frame, fingers tightly buried into his sweater.

“I thought he died and I just thought that I would never hear his voice go” Well done” again and it all started crashin’ down on me and I just couldn’t...think that could be true. And I don’t even know why because that’s so _fuckin’ stupid_ of me but-"

As he holds Eggsy through his sobs, Merlin can't help but sigh. This brazen young man who had once stomped up to him, nose upturned, mouth set in a frustrated line, bearing all the burdens of years of being looked down upon on his shoulders, thinking he was disposable when he was never that way at all.

“Looking good, Eggsy”  
The only words that he could say,  
“Feeling good, Merlin.”

How very foolish of him.

* * *

 

Harry the fucking peacock Hart naturally has to come to in the most dramatic way possible, eyes slowly flickering open while he remains perfectly still and then dropping some shitty one-liner that nearly scared the lights out of Merlin himself.

“I thought I died.” He goes, all dramatic and shit. Merlin practically jumps at his sudden words, tablet nearly falling out of his hands.

“You nearly did too, now shut up, he’s sleeping,” Merlin replies and nods to his side. Turning the best he can, muscles wincing at the sudden movement after months of languid rest, he sees Eggsy curled up in the chair by his right, a dark grey sweater that he distinctly remembers as Merlin’s draped around his shoulders.

He turns back to Merlin with a raised eyebrow. Merlin just shrugs and hides a soft smile.

“Get some rest, Harry, I’ll call the doctor over.”

* * *

 

  
They’re not a thing. They’re a maybe. They’re a perhaps. They’re a Eggsy doesn’t really know anything at all.

 

* * *

 

  
"I went back to his house when we got back, I didn’t even have a picture of him, just staring at those damn butterflies that reminded me of everything I didn’t know about him, about his past, about why he even collected those damn butterflies, that I never even got to tell him even though I wanted to so much-" Eggsy chokes and it takes all of Merlin's strength to keep his hands to his side and not reach out to hold the other as if he could siphon some of the pain away.

He wasn't a stranger to death.

Far from it, rather, in a way that ought to be almost frightening to most people but the prospect of death and loss had long since become yet another familiarity face that passed by ever so often.

  
It is a feeling that has long worn its way over his shoulders, weaving their presence into the well-worn sweaters he wears, weighing him down with a burden that is really not his to bear but he picks up the cross anyway.

* * *

 

  
This is how I see Merlin and Eggsy falling in love. It’s slow. It happens so slow that none of them even realise it. In the late nights where Eggsy can’t sleep, still not yet fully over Harry, not yet come to terms with what has happened with his life, he goes over to the Tech room and watches Merlin fiddle around the screens in the dark room, all alone.

They don’t talk. But that’s enough. It’s their time, those nights spent alone in the Tech room ( Eggsy asks why Merlin is there all the time and he goes: because I can’t sleep either and that is when he realises Merlin’s got his own burdens to bear, that he’s got his own demons to grapple with.)

The thing is Merlin’s seen so many of his colleagues and the rare few that he could call a friend - Harry was one of them - die before his very eyes.  
And he knows it’s not his cross to bear but he still blames himself, deep at theb ottom of his heart.

And when he first realises that he might be falling in love with Eggsy, the night when they’re both seated together in front of the screen up front and then Eggsy’s head lolls over and rests on his shoulders, fast asleep because he’s exhuasted from his newly returned mission...

It’s a weight on his shoulders that is comforting to bear for once. A weight he’s glad to bear and he has his fingers half threaded through Eggsy’s messy, still damp hair when he realises and realises that he may be just a little bit in love.

But then it’s a dangerous mission that he’s got to send Eggsy on next. A single misstep and he could be...could be like all the rest and he certainly doesn’t want that so he snaps, loses his cool, yells at Eggsy to take things seriously when he goofs off even though those usually make him smile instead (and the only reason why Eggsy does that, he’s slowly realising on his part, is because he loves how he makes Merlin smile)

 


	9. A Good Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is how lives separate.

 

**_It’s like a three part love story._ **

_They fall in love like ticking steps off a list._

_Step by step, one by one._

_They fall out of the love the same way._

_(they begin, they are, they end)_

_~_

_This is how lives separate._

~

“This will be our last mission together.”

Harry’s hand freezes over the open drawer. The rows of golden signet rings lined up in perfect order glints back at him. He plucks one up and regards it for a moment, then slides it onto his last finger. It fits snugly onto the spot long worn into the skin.

 “Yes. I know,” He says and closes the drawer with a loud click.

The last time they had been here it had been dark and their heavy footfalls had been like thunder rolling over the hardwood floors, but even that had been softer and gentler than their yells. They are echoing in his ear now.

_“What the **fuck** was that?”_

_The sound of the door slamming shut with an almighty crash._

_“Is the mission all you care about? Wait, why the **fuck** do I even bother asking?”_

_“Did it even occur to you that **tens of thousands** of people could have died if you had not managed to take that shot?”_

_“What ‘bout the life of that kid **huh**? Just ‘cause he was some roughed up punk on the streets, **he don’t matter**?”_

_A fist strikes the wall. The paintings rattle against their hooks and the lighters on the shelves come clattering down like hailstone._

_“If required, the sacrifice of one life is -“_

_“What the fuck Harry just listen to what you’re **fucking saying right now**. The boy helped us, he trusted us-”_

_“We don’t always have the luxury of making the easy choice all the time. “_

_“…Would you have shot me, back then, if I had ever gotten in the way of a mission?”_

_“Eggsy, that’s not-“_

It’s just a routine mission – a simple infiltrate and recover.

Harry straightens out his cuffs and brushes down the edges of his grey jacket

“…I’ve talked to Roxy today, y’know,” Eggsy starts with a weak laugh, toying with his wedding ring on his finger. “And it wasn’t until she congratulated us that I realized our wedding anniversary was today. Did you remember?”

Harry’s own surprised stare answers for himself.

“Ha…you too, huh? I’m not sure which year. 8th…9th?” Eggsy’s eyes slowly meets Harry’s surprised brown eyes fully—the first in a long time. “…Harry, what happened to us?”

“It was no one’s fault that the mission went so wrong,” He decides finally, trying to make his words come out as firmly and resolutely as he can even though his voice is cracking. He staggers to his feet and takes the few shaky steps over to Harry and then touches his shoulder lightly, hoping with all he can to impart

“We’ll be alright, kay?”

He doesn’t even believe his own words.

* * *

 

But they aren’t.

“This will be our last mission.”

“What are we going to do after this?”

“I don’t know.”

“...We’ll settle this when we get back.”

Everything goes wrong.

 

* * *

 

The light from the corridor slices through the darkened room like a knife -dagger sharp, without remorse. The door slams against the wall with a crash that is deafening in the silence that they tumble into. Their clothes are torn and bloodied in places, breath laboured and they are leaning heavily on each other for support. They just barely manage to fall into the room and click the door shut behind them, before breaking apart as if shocked by lighting and staggering away to collapse at different parts of the room.

 “Eggsy-” Harry starts, his voice low and steady but there is a slight hitch to his breath and hearing that just makes the violent, roiling emotion coursing through Eggsy blow up like volatile reaction, threatening to spill over from him and seep out from his edges. There is a hammering in his ears - a sort of crazy electric drumming reminiscent of bullet fire, laid over the deep, overwhelming thump of a timpani. It is driving him mad and Eggsy knows it shows. There’s no more of the smart, well-dressed, perfectly put together gentleman that had boarded the plane this morning left any more - at this point, the strings have been pulled too taut and have begun snapping one by one.

 Their mission had been doomed from the start.

“Don’t you fucking dare start, Harry,” is all he manages to snap back, his vision already slightly hazy and blurring around the edges. He is bleeding all the way down his right side and his suit is no doubt ruined, which sucked because it had been newly commissioned. Both of his arms feel sore and one of them feels loose and limp in its socket. The pain has dulled to a faint constant in the back of his mind, and he frankly doesn’t know if it’s because his body is healing or if his mind is too gone to register it any more. He slumps against the couch, head rolling back to rest against the armrest. God, he is so tired and everywhere fucking hurts.

What hurts the most is the wretched look Harry is giving him, but he doesn’t say that, doesn’t say the obvious.

_They had been holding a gun to Harry’s head._

* * *

There is blood dripping from a deep cut over the edge of Harry’s eyebrows and the side of his face is a matted mess of blood and dirt, but he doesn’t care anymore. All he is registering now is the ferocity to the other’s words, the way he tears and spits out the edges and ends of every syllabi and the hurt circling about in the edges of his eyes. _His eyes_. Eggsy’s eyes are wide and wild and if Harry had not been there earlier to see the entire fucked up smoking mess of horse shit go down, he would have called the other’s expression crazed. But as it was, he had been there, in the madness of the bullet fire, in the midst of the trap that should have ended in death, at least for one of them. The fact that the two of them were here now, winded, wounded and probably only upright from the adrenaline coursing through their veins, was a sheer miracle.

Greater agents had fallen from missions lesser than this.

But the day has been too much, he can’t deal with this now too. They have lost contact with their local handler. They have lost contact with Merlin department. Their aliases were probably already being burnt. They both need medical attention that they can’t afford right now, a safety that they can’t reach and most of all, time. Time that they do not have because tonight is the only chance they have to recover and prepare to run again.

Fuck this mission and this country and the villain of the day and everything. How had things got so out of control?

His sides hurt with every breath that he takes, each mouthful of air coming at the cost of a bright spark of pain shooting through his chest like a fistful of splinters. Still, he draws in the harsh, artificially cold air and spits out, “I’m not the one who jumped off the fucking building-”

 “Oh so ya’ rather we die facing the squad of gun men then?” Eggsy says, as if he had not leaped over the railings separating them from an eighty eight storey drop without a second’s thought.

Without even looking back to see Harry’s face of utter horror as he did so.

The fact that by doing so, the men that had held Harry captive had instantly dropped him from gunpoint and let him go, for the artefact that they so desperately needed to recover at all cost was with Eggsy instead, thereby saving his life, just made Harry feel worse.

The fact that the new-fangled prototype base jumping chute Eggsy had pinched from Merlin’s lab without anyone’s knowledge had worked (somewhat, at the very last minute), was of no reassurance.

Harry hadn’t _known._

 

* * *

The white billowing drapes and the heavier beige curtains that line the panel of windows along one wall is drawn to reveal the brightly lit cityscape outside and the Petronas Towers sitting offendingly in the distance. Harry can’t help closing his eyes at that sight, trying to stop the loop of Eggsy leaping over the side of the fucking skyscraper from playing again and again in his mind’s eyes in horrifying slow motion.

Harry feels a throbbing in his head and a twitch in his eyelids, but he forces down the feeling to smash, to break something with his fingers. The wallpaper feels rough on his skin and the carpet does nothing for his bruised ankles, bare skin scraping over the rough wool where his pants is torn and shredded. It would do no good for his arm to do something as impulsive as that - his arm that was already bleeding from three deep cuts delivered courtesy of a parang wielding maniac, and weakly holding up the rags that is somewhat staunching the bleeding from his grazed sides.

“I would have rather we find another way to escape through the building, or at least fight our way out-”

 “For fuck’s sake, you think we could’ve fought our way through that? We’re good, but not that good, hell, even you know that Harry-” Eggsy’s words are almost a yell, if he had the strength to do so. Harry grits his teeth and curls up his fists, ignoring the pain that shoots up his arm as he does so. It is nothing compared to the weight of anger and worry and anxiety and through all the pain, love, that is crushing him. The words are in his mouth before he knows it, the tidal wave of emotion within him forcing them out before he can stop it.

 “I would have rather we die fighting them off than watch you die pulling off some reckless stunt like that for me!”

 “You can’t cheat death all the fuckin’ time.”

 They all but yell out the sentences at each other together, then their interlocked gazes freeze in the darkness. In the shadows, Harry can only just make out the beautiful melting green hazel of Eggsy’s eyes and Eggsy can barely see the rich mellow brown of Harry’s, but they both can see the hurt dashed within them, reflected in their own.

 “Fuck.”

 “I’m sorry.”

 

* * *

 An oppressive silence settles over them as they both crumple back down where they had fallen, curling up into themselves. They both need to tend to their wounds, a drink, probably three, or ten, and some time to their own.

 Or fuck that, actually. Eggsy pushes himself up to his feet with much effort, leveraging on the support of the couch for help and then unsteadily propels himself across to the room to where Harry is already standing to meet him, albeit clinging onto the wall for support.

 There is no time to rest and they both know it. Still, Eggsy reaches the other and clings tightly to the lapels of his burnt, bloodied suit and breathes him in even as their knees buckle again from the exertion. But Harry holds him tightly even as they go down again, folding around him as they hit the carpeted floor with a small thump. There is no time to rest and their fingers that graze across each other’s injuries - searching, seeking, comforting - still contain a trace of anger in their movements, and they both know it.

 It hurts too much to put feeling into it.

 It would take more than this for them to heal, but it would take more than this to ruin them.

They have much to do. They cannot stay here any longer. It is too dangerous and the underground crime ring they pissed off today is surely slowly but steadily circling closer and closer to them even as they linger like this.

 But they can at least steal this moment for themselves.

Harry rests his good hand over the strong angular curve of Eggsy’s jaw and tips his head up to gently press a kiss to his lips. It is weak but Eggsy returns it the best he can, then the two of them part and give each other a brief looking over, before hobbling over to retrieve the medical supplies to tend to each other’s wounds.

 It would be a long night.


	10. An Uplifting Romance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Eggsy,” Harry begins, inching towards the open lift doors slowly. “As much as I am fond of you, I must ask you not to get on this lift. For reasons unknown, the chances of lifts failing to perform their due function seems to triple when the both of us are on board and I must get to the board meeting on time.”
> 
>  
> 
> Or: The Office Elevator AU.

 

 

 Eggsy’s been learning a lot of things about Kingsman Bank lately.

One: The lifts keep breaking down.

Two: A man named James in Tech sends huge floral bouquets that requires all of Eggsy’s strength just to lift it up to a man named Percival in Accounting every Tuesday and Friday without fail. Percival, a tall, stony-faced man always instructs him to ‘dump the bouquet of the week by the door for the cleaners’, but once Eggsy had lingered around the corner for a while and spotted the man hastily dragging the bouquet in after looking both ways down the hallway.

Three: The lifts keep breaking down.

Four: A beautiful young woman called Roxanne in Human Resources and the terrifying receptionist Gazelle have recently begun sending increasingly odd gifts to each other, ranging from a black lace thong that left Eggsy’s face burning as he bought it to a gift-wrapped set of throwing knives and a lipstick that doubles up as a taser.

Five: The lifts _keep fuckin’ breaking down._

With the most _gorgeous_ man in it with him.

Except that man seems to utterly hate him.

* * *

You see, Eggsy’s something of a delivery boy. And an errand boy. And a personal service deliverer. It is kind of a mix of all three. Basically, whatever you needed him to get done, he would get the job done. It’s well, essentially, his job.

Technically, however, he is a mailboy.

Really, Eggsy had had no idea that office buildings in London even had mailrooms anymore when he first saw the recruitment post. After all, it was the digital age! The age of the internet! The age of e-mails and instant messaging and social media!

But apparently mailrooms were still a thing and Kingsman Bank was hiring mailroom assistants.

He had stared at the post for a good ten minutes or so, trying to process everything, and then thought _what the heck_ and emailed in his less than stellar resume. The pay was shitloads better than whatever he was pulling at Maccy D’s anyway.

Sure, so he would probably never hear back from them, but it didn’t hurt to try.

Except he _did._  


So that was how Eggsy found himself one fine busy weekday morning nearly slipping over the polished marble lobby of the lofty Kingsman skyscraper right smack in the middle of central London.

It turns out his job is a little more than sorting out mail - it’s really more of taking care of every single little bit of movin’ things around that the bankers, too busy to even _breathe_ in their cubicles, couldn’t take care of.

Most of the time all Eggsy delivers is the coffee and tea order of the day, all the hazelnut macchiatos and ‘decaf chamomile-fennel-elderflower-orangeblossom-nettle- i _s this really a herb or a poisonous plant and more importantly, how the fuck do you pronounce this’_ tisane infusions from cafes and coffeeshops all around London straight to the desks of these office workers who barely even glance up at him from their computers. Other times, he’s running around picking up dry-cleaning orders, delivering memos and paying dog walkers for walking over-excited little pedigree puppies which he suspect have probably never met their actual owners.

It’s actually a lot more proper than it sounds. He’s even required to wear a pressed white shirt and tie, imagine _that_.

His mum had been so proud when she had first did his tie for him, sighing that her boy was all grown up now even while he shuffled self-consciously underneath her hands. The new pair of oxfords he’d gone out to get the moment he’d got the job was ill-fitting and cut into his feet a little but even that couldn’t keep the skip out of his step as he had eagerly walked down his new path in life. (Although the oxfords had quickly gotten chucked away in favour of his favourite adidas, because it wasn’t easy to balance thirty cups of hot tea in tight leather shoes, kay.)

...Right, so, has he mentioned that the man he keeps getting stuck in the lifts of Kingsman Bank in is A. utterly gorgeous and B. hates him?

 

* * *

 

It’s not fair at all – the way that the other is always clad in perfectly form fitting suits that look like they cost an entire year’s worth of his salary from _both_ his jobs, this one was a mail boy and his other one at nights and weekends (He just did freelance coding for sites, having taught himself from a book.).

The man doesn’t seem to wear the same lanyard and company cards on him like Eggsy and the rest of the employees here, but he’s always around and always going to some really high up level to boot. Eggsy’s never worked in an office before but he at least knows that the higher you were in the ‘corporate hierarchy’, the higher you went, literally. So the man’s probably a client or customer or something. Given the way he keeps waltzing straight into the lifts and up the building like he owns the place, he’s probably a really important one to boot.

Certainly nothing compared to him.

He’s just the mailroom assistant. The delivery boy.

Still, that’s no reason to always edge towards the other side of the lift and look the other way whenever the useless thing breaks down!

 

_Geez._

 

* * *

 It is on the fourth time that the lift stalls (and the second time that this has lasted for over a minute), that Eggsy finally musters the courage to talk to The Gentleman.

 “So uh…y’know, for a fancy bank, their lifts sure are pretty crappy,” He starts into the silence but his words quickly turn into a mumble towards the end as the other doesn’t even seem to hear him, much less look like he’s going to reply. Eggsy flushes a little and quickly looks down, hiding his face behind the towering pack of hot beverages that is like burning in his hands now.

Somehow, the small enclosed space is making him even more self-conscious of the way his accent slips about the consonants and the way his oversized old Jamie Scotts make scuffling sounds on the carpet. He’s usually straight up proud of these old pair of Adidas, but beside that bloke in that fuckin’ sweet three piece suit and fancy snappy shoes that go perfectly with ‘em posh clothes?

“It is indeed unfortunate,” The other man says finally, and Eggsy sneaks a look at over the edges of the decaf vanilla tea lattes and hazelnut soy cappuccinos to see him pushing up those fine black frames up his nose as he frowns at the unmoving display over the closed doors.

“Merlin should really look into this,” He sighs and Eggsy just goggles at him, because he’s pretty sure Merin’s in charge of Ops and is all the way up there and the man had just rolled his name off so casually like they were pals and stuff.

He opens his mouth, then shuts it again as he tries to find some words to fill in the silence that doesn’t make him sound like a total idiot.

He is also very aware that the other clearly knows that he’s unable to take his eyes off him - but that suit. Fuck. He wants to _be_ that suit.

What ends up coming out is “Your suit looks real good on you, by the way, very ah…. suit- _able.”_

Great, if he isn’t fired for sexual harassment, he will be fired for that pun.

To his surprise, the man just gives an amused chuckle. His laughter is low and smooth and pleasant and shouldn’t be half as sexy as it is in this situation, but it is.

He’s still in the midst of berating himself fiercely in his mind for that totally useless statement when the lift jerks and begins its ascent once more with a loud groan. The doors open with a ping on the forty-second floor and Eggsy belatedly realises that he had forgotten to punch in the floor he had wanted to go in the first place, too distracted by who had ended up joining him in the lift to notice.

Great.

The man steps out of the lift and Eggsy sighs, resigned to at least admiring his figure from the back as the lift doors close and bring him back down to his lowly domains but then the man turns around, stopping the doors from closing with an easy hand on the side of the doors.

“By the way, if we are going to be fated to enjoy each other’s company, I suppose introductions are in order. My name is Harry, Harry Hart, and you…?”

“Eggsy! I mean Gary, uh like, my name’s Gary Unwin, but everyone calls me Eggsy.”

“Ah, I had hoped I wasn’t like ‘everyone’ else.”

  
“Well then, I suppose I shall be seeing you.

 

Did he just imply that he enjoyed Eggsy’s company? Even though Eggsy had pretty much done nothing but been a total klutz?

 

* * *

 

 

 The lift makes a low groaning sound and Eggsy turns to look at Harry but the other man has already shifted to lean on the metal railing and away from him. Wow rude.

 The huge flower bouquet is making his arms ache.

 ...

"Look, I'm not tryin' to be rude or anything but you always turn and step away from me whenever I get into the lift like there's some problem with me, if so don't ya think you oughta tell me instead of being all cold an' frosty about it and then you become all chatty and stuffs the next day and I'm sorry but I'm pretty fuckin' confused alright! Make up your damn mind already!"

“I’m allergic to pollen,” Harry sighs finally.

Eggsy blinks.

"Oh."

 

* * *

 

 “Do you think the lift gods, like, if there was one, hate us or did we accumulate like bad lift karma sometime. Because I don’t know if you've noticed but it doesn’t matter

“I rode this lift earlier and it worked perfectly fine.

* * *

 

 

The lift breaks down again and Eggsy has no idea why he even expected anything different.

“So uh, you come here a lot, you some rich

“You could say that,” Harry replies, scowling at

“Yeah it probably sucks ‘cause it’s a waste of your time and all. I bet you probably earn like a couple of thousands

“Well,” Harry inclines his head and seems to give it some thought. “That’s not really correct. More like ten thousands maybe..”

Eggsy stares back in shock because what the fuck he had been makin’ a joke and he knew that people in the world somewhere probably made that sort of money that Eggsy could only dream about, doing coffee an’ tea runs in the afternoon but he’d never expect to get stuck in the lift with one. Hell, Harry had probably made ten thousand in the seconds that’d past!

 

“Fuck me,” is all he can say and he lets out a long, low whistle, then makes the mistake of meeting Harry’s eyes.

 

“Yes please.”

 

* * *

 

There are eight lifts in this lift lobby but of course, only one has to be even remotely near the ground floor. It opens with a ding and Harry just stares at Eggsy who is dishevelled,

“I’m sorry Harry I know but if I don’t get this delivery on time, Chester is going to throw up a fuss about me delivering his coffee one time late and he’s gonna fire me or something and I htink he can actually make good on it this time."

Harry scowls. "I'll just fire him."

"Wait what?"

 

"Harry Hart as in....Hart and Co.?!"

Eggsy most certainly does not faint.

**Author's Note:**

> find me on [tumblr](http://sushicorps.tumblr.com/) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/sushicorps/)


End file.
